


Soulbound Frequency

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, At some point people get shot, Case Fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Flirting in the most ridiculous situations, M/M, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Switzerland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 30,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: Magic is unlocked only between soulmates. When Mycroft and Greg meet they are enemies. Enemies bound by a secret that is too precious for both of them to let go.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 112
Kudos: 187





	1. Chapter 1

There was magic in this world. It was all around, an invisible force moving through the air, through every object, through mountains and oceans. It was there… and yet it wasn’t for most all people in this world. It moved on a different frequency than humans, who weren’t receptive to it, couldn’t use or mold it to their will. There were exceptions, of course, as there always are. But they didn’t happen randomly. No, they only happened between soulmates.

Many studies had been undertaken, many attempts made to artificially reproduce the effect of the soulmate bond to make magic available to the wider public (at least the ones that paid well) but so far it had been unsuccessful. There was something that soulmates shared, which was unique to every bond and only worked between them. A sort of shared frequency, which resonated within them, attuned them to the wider world of magic.

Some people thought it was like that because magic was incredibly overpowered, and in that way you could only hold the power when you were in a relationship, a sort of reward for being kind and loving… but Greg knew better. He pressed send on his latest report, slammed his laptop shut and put his hands over both eyes. It hurt. It hurt him physically to see this time and time again. Kept soulmates, used for nothing more than a battery to recharge, to enable. There was no love there. They were imprisoned, restricted, used for one purpose only.

He thought back on the scene they had found earlier that day. A high ranking politician, with a wife who was posing as his soulmate, when in fact the actual soulmate had been a younger man, held captive in a penthouse apartment for years. He’d kept up appearances with a woman. No one had suspected him, until Greg had gotten a tip. They’d done the test with the wife. The easiest one there was: The colour test. Magic was not the only thing setting soulmates apart. Only under the influence of it could you perceive colour in the world. For the rest of all the ordinary people, like Greg himself, everything was black and white and grey.

The wife had promptly failed the test, showing that she wasn’t the soulmate after all. It had been easy from there, the captive man had even been living a life of relative luxury compared to other cases Greg had witnessed over the years… but still. Still.

At that moment his phone made the noise of a honking goose. A text.

[I told you she wasn’t the one.] SH

Greg didn’t answer straight away. He left his office, locked the door behind him, walked slowly towards the backdoor exit. Out there, in the glow of the streetlights, he lit a cigarette. With a sigh he leaned back against the wall, fished for his phone in his jacket pocket. It was a cold spring night and he shivered slightly as he brought up the text again.

[How did you know?] GL

[Easy. She has a personal shopper with her every time she buys new clothes, which is very often, given that she has to accompany her husband to so many events. She can’t see the colours and often chooses horrible combinations, only to be corrected.] SH

[So if you figured that out… that means you can see colour?] GL

[You know asking about that is taboo.] SH

[Stalking a possibly innocent woman and surveilling her on a hunch is also taboo.] GL

[Not the same.] SH

Greg sighed.

[You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you for the tip.] GL

[If you’re grateful then let me in on the next case.] SH

[I’ll think about it.] GL

There was no further answer. Greg crushed his cigarette butt against the wall and dumped it in a nearby trash can. He stared up at the sky, but there were no stars visible in the middle of the city. He was a weird one, that Sherlock Holmes. This made the third time he’d been right with his tips. Maybe there was something to him, after all. Rude, though. Greg huffed a laugh. Incredibly rude.

He glanced at his watch. 11pm. Shit. Not again. At least he was allowed to sleep in when the work kept him for that long. He didn’t even want to look at the amount of overtime he’d accumulated during the first months of this year already. Home. Yes. Shower, crappy food, pass out.

On his way out he walked past the desk of one of his colleagues, who had adorned it with pictures of his family. In one they were smiling in front of a lake, mountains visible in the background, clouds in the sky. Greg’s heart made that strange hurting sensation again as he thought about the word blue. A blue sky. What would that be like to see?

He shook his head. There was no use contemplating any of this. He was too old to meet his soulmate now. And besides, he could navigate the world just fine in black and white. It was made for people like him. The majority. The unfortunate. The magic-less. The unbonded. He left the Yard with a stomach that felt like it was filled with lead. Maybe no dinner, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The glass hit the wall between the bookshelf and the meticulously well-cared for potted plant and shattered into an astonishing number of pieces. They rained down on the thick carpet, which received them with almost no sound. A manila folder was slammed down on a heavy desk, the wood so sturdy it didn’t care much about the mistreatment. The room itself was unimpressed, having witnessed so many meltdowns over its hundreds of years that this small hiccup was nothing on the grand scale. But it wasn’t nothing for Mycroft Holmes.

“Moron. Imbecile. Idiot,” he pushed out between grinding teeth.

That was it. Two years of effort to get the perfect candidate groomed for office, to get their strawman right where they wanted him to be. Local elections, goodwill campaigns. He’d been on his way to become mayor of London, next step PM. They’d always known that he wasn’t the brightest, but he was easily manipulated. Malleable. It was the fastest, easiest way to get the recent political disasters cleaned up. Current powers resisted Mycroft’s advice again and again… So he and his team had decided to play the long game, get their own man in.

And now it was all for nothing. This was a scandal you couldn’t get back from. As much as the general public was wary of soulmate bonds since they were so incredibly rare, they were also envious. Of course they were. Magic, colour, a whole world of possibilities. His man had mainly used his powers to create meaningless spectacles, but they’d been popular with the crowds, with children. Parlour tricks, nothing more. Something to be fascinated by, which was also safe and harmless… and then he’d been caught.

The young man, the actual soulmate, had claimed to live in the apartment out of his free will, but the damage had been done. Someone who’d betrayed the trust of the public with a fake wife like that could never rise through the ranks… He could never…. Mycroft paused and thought back on the current PM. Well, never say never. It would take some time, but the alternative candidates would take longer. They’d need to spin it. Accuse the other side. Reframe the relationship. It didn’t have to be one or the other… Yes. His man could still be a victim in all of this. Lord knows the press did these kinds of spins on an almost weekly basis for so many other people.

“Will that be all, sir?”

Mycroft straightened in his chair. Anthea had always been excellent at reading his moods, waiting on the sidelines until his head had cleared. He scolded himself mentally for how long it had taken to come up with this new, so very obvious plan. Emotional. Sloppy.

“One thing before you go,” Mycroft said, holding up his tie with the pen he’d been twirling absentmindedly. “Is this really blue? It was in the drawer under blue… but I fear the cleaner might have sorted wrongly.”

“It’s purple,” Antha replied. “It still works with the whole outfit.”

Mycroft nodded. It was tedious to navigate a world in which so many important people could laugh at you for the wrong colour choices when you couldn’t work out the correct ones yourself. The place where he got his clothes cleaned had someone on staff, who’d sort the items by colour before they went back out to prevent mishaps. Mycroft had learned the colour table, the combinations by heart, had forced himself to recognise minute subtleties in brightness, but it was often still a stab in the dark. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. A man like him didn’t have a soulmate.

Many people walked around with blocking glasses, which were like sunglasses, only they prevented any kind of accidental exchange. You had to look into your soulmate's eyes to create a connection, to exchange magic, to realise you were on the same frequency. They feared such a connection could come about unexpectedly, by accident as they walked through the city, glanced at one another across the street or in two different trains. Many films had been made about these unfortunate connections, where the world flashed in colour just once and the two soulmates lost each other forever.

The opposite was also true. There were speed dates. Matching rounds, so to say. Often there were impromptu attempts just out in public. Some people would sit in well-known spots around the city and you could walk by, stare into each other’s eyes, hoping there would be a match. And some people never wanted to look at anyone, fearing the concept of colour so much they didn’t even take off their blocking glasses even while sleeping.

Mycroft wasn’t any of these people. He neither wore blocking glasses nor was actively looking. Of course he believed in the concept of soulmates—the evidence didn’t lie—but he believed it was nothing for him. How could he have a soulmate? Sometimes he didn’t even see himself as human, and was sure no one else did. Except maybe Anthea, but she had already found her soulmate. Found incredibly powerful magic inside her, but was still content to work under him. It made her a very capable bodyguard, at least.

“Thank you. That will be all for today,” Mycroft said. “First thing tomorrow we need to get the Mail, the Sun and the Mirror in here. I have a new narrative to push and they owe me.”

“Of course. Have a good evening, sir.”

Mycroft scoffed. Only when Anthea left the room he relaxed. He stared out of the window, watched the sun set. The sky was bright. He’d been told sunsets were a spectacle. Red and yellow and orange. Like fire. His mother had always described colours to him, that hidden world only conveyed through words and concepts. He knew, rationally, what the colour orange was, what objects shared it… but… he shook his head.

Then a thought flitted through his mind. How had the police known? How had they even thought to look? He keyed his password into the laptop and brought up the report on the police action. A name stood on top. Team leader. The one who’d spearheaded the whole initiative which had effectively ruined years of Mycroft’s work. He looked the name up in the system and stared at the picture.

Gregory Nicholas Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft isn't above using all the tools at his disposal. I like this interpretation, if I may say so myself.


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s this bullshit?” Greg yelled and slammed a stack of newspapers on Sally’s desk.

To her credit, his partner didn’t even flinch. She picked up the topmost paper and stared at the headline.

“Mayoral candidate arrested for love… Police meddling in private arrangements…” she read out loud and scanned the article.

“We had him. I was there when we busted the apartment. The guy was locked in there. Had been for years. He said so himself!” Greg steamed. “This is all bullshit!”

“Looks like he changed his story,” Sally replied. “Wonder how much that cost.”

“You can’t buy your way out of this!”

“Apparently you can.”

Greg flopped down on a nearby chair, made it roll back from the force of it, bumping against a desk. The story hadn’t been in the morning papers. No wonder. They hadn’t made an official statement by then. In the afternoon they had. Then, a few hours later, this in the evening news. Freshly printed. Gred scoffed.

“They couldn’t have produced this so quickly. They must’ve known in the morning. Someone leaked this. Someone orchestrated this response. They’re all printing the same angle. Everyone.”

“We’re still prosecuting him, aren't we?” Sally asked.

“Of course. I couldn’t give two shits about this guy's reputation. I care about the precedent this could set. Do you know how many people would be helped if we could convict a high ranking, public member like this of soulmate exploitation? I’ve had enough of letting people go because this isn’t recognised. Isn’t exposed as the heinous crime it is.”

“And that’s why I like working with you. Got your head on right,” Sally smiled. “Well, then… let’s get the team together and work on our response. Let’s get these bastards.”

“I swear if I didn’t have your level head around… I don’t know what I’d do, Sal.”

“There’s a reason they put us together, champ.”

Greg smiled in return, then let his head fall back and look at the less than appealing ceiling.

“Fucking politicians,” he mumbled.

———————————

Mycroft was less than pleased to have received a formal invitation of this nature. He had expected it, of course, and it wasn’t actually for him directly… but it was a challenge. A challenge that seemed like a first and last attempt to hit back. The other side probably didn’t see it this way, but now that the public was largely and vocally on his man’s side, the few fringe groups that had tried to bring soulmate exploitations into the limelight for years had been so effectively droned out that they weren’t a danger any longer.

If his man went to court, they’d claim his soulmate’s first statement had been given under duress. If he was actually convicted, they could spin the victim narrative even further. Forced soulmate separation was a hot topic. He wasn’t sure the police would want to go there. This was something that would be made clear to them in today’s meeting. Not by Mycroft himself, of course. By the ones ‘in charge’. He’d sit at the back of the room, merely a low ranking member there to make notes. He could make himself unassuming if he wanted. No one gave him a second glance, which was aided by the fact that most of his own team didn’t even know his position and thereby couldn’t give it away.

The invitation was for the next morning, promptly at 6am. An unnecessary tactic to make them attend unrested, especially since the invitation had come at 11pm. No matter. They wouldn’t reschedule. They wouldn’t give any ground. He’d be there at 6am and if he’d see any weakness in any of his colleagues faces he’d have them removed.

Mycroft turned in his bed and put his work phone on top of the wireless charger. It made a soft pinging noise to let him know that everything was in order. He stared at the ceiling until it plunged back into darkness, the phone screen turning itself off. Mycroft relished the night. The great equalizer. Black and white for most everyone, where only brightness could lead you, where colour took the second place. Greyscale was his world, where he felt safe and unquestioned. He closed his eyes, tried to turn his brain off. Concentrated on the softness on the bed underneath, the warm cocoon of the blanket. When he was still awake fifteen minutes later he sighed and gave in, let his hands wander lower to indulge in the one thing he knew would let him relax enough to fall asleep almost instantly afterwards.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft’s team had come in early. 5:30am. 3 hours of sleep weren’t nearly enough, but he’d had worse. This wasn’t a particularly difficult meeting, he’d just have to sit on the sidelines. His people were briefed. Everything was in their favour. As he walked past a window, he checked his appearance with a short, practiced glance. Not a hair out of place. He allowed himself a quick smile before he filtered into the meeting room behind the rest of the team.

The responsible Yarders weren’t in yet, that much was clear. Maybe they would even make his team wait. Transparent tactics. One unlucky intern had been sent to prepare a complimentary breakfast of coffee and… well. Coffee. This wasn’t a seminar, this was a potential battlefield. At least he could count on the police to not poison the brew. He snatched a paper cup filled with the dark liquid and relished the bitter taste on his tongue as he leaned against the wall in a corner, looking out through the window. The sun was just coming up, the sky was already turning brighter, chasing away the dark. The black and white and grey. The safety of the night. But there was beauty to the light too. The view across the river was, as always, one of Mycroft’s favourites. It reminded him of why he did this, why he resorted to every trick in the book to safeguard this nation.

“Should I have some delivered?” Anthea asked.

She had positioned herself next to him, leaned in to whisper. He glanced around the room.

“If it can be here in 20 minutes.”

“Consider it done.”

Mycroft watched his assistant leave the room to bring in some actual breakfast. It would catch the Yarders off guard, at least. And he knew Anthea would make sure that his favourite would be among the options. Apricot croissant. Maybe it would be such a bad day after all. There was something to be said about an early start. Get this out of the way and tackle the actually important problems.

Just then the door opened and Mycroft straightened out of reflex. A woman entered, a stern look on her face. She had her hair tied back, wore light grey cloth trousers and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves. Around her neck was a fine chain that glinted in the light of the room, just barely visible behind the topmost, open button. Mycroft grinned. Casual. Showing that she was at home here. That she owned the place. Sally Donovan. Of course he’d read her file before coming in. Just as he’d read all the files of their potential opponents. Not a bad move. Not a bad move at all.

Mycroft settled in, half sitting on the windowsill as the door opened again and a man walked in after her. As opposed to his colleague, he was wearing a full suit, dressed to impress, though his light hair was standing up as if he’d run his hands through it. Mycroft recognised him. Gregory Nicholas Lestrade. He was the main instigator of this whole— 

———————————

Greg was pretty sure that the world wasn’t supposed to go sideways. Well, it was technically supposed to go sideways, otherwise the Earth’s rotation would stop and they’d all be burnt (or frozen), but he wasn’t supposed to feel it. He’d looked into the room and suddenly it felt like someone had knocked him over the head. He first stumbled, then tumbled. There was an impact, something hurt, but it was distant, like he felt the pain through a thick layer of cotton wool. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut, as the light was suddenly way too harsh to cope with.

“Greg!” he heard someone shout. Sally.

He realised that he’d collapsed at some point, obviously dragged a nearby person down with him as he was still clinging to their clothes. Greg released the poor bastard, but his eyes were burning so much he couldn’t open them to see who it was. Then there were two hands on his shoulders, he sat crouched, both of his own hands on the coarse carpet flooring, the dark one he’d always hated. Sally was still there, with him, but he heard her concerned voice like it was far, far away.

He opened his eyes.

The carpet wasn’t all dark. It had three… three… different… three similar… three… 

Tears formed in his eyes as his brain tried to comprehend the magnitude of his realisation, tried to find words and concepts to match expression, pushed his whole life experience to the side and built a new one.

Then he heard a loud voice on the other side of the room.

“No, no, no, no…” the voice repeated over and over.

Greg looked up to see what the commotion was, but his gaze was immediately distracted by the view through the large windows and the bright sky that stretched across it. He had no words to describe it, but rationally he knew that the spectacle of the sunrise was colouring the sky in gentle tones, so similar that he could’ve never described their distinctions when it had simply been ‘bright’ to him. Now he saw the wisps of clouds standing out against a such a subtle gradient that it made his heart ache and— 

Another hand on his arm. An angry voice. Then a louder in the distance. Sally protested as he was drawn up, all but dragged through the room. He didn’t mind, as he got closer and closer to the window. He only had eyes for the sky.

“Is this blue?” he whispered.

Then a person stepped between him and the window and he was temporarily angry until he saw it again. The sky blue, but in a different place. He stared into the wide eyes of a man, who looked back at him in shock and horror.

“No…” the other muttered. “No, not…”

Greg’s brain made a lurch and came to a realisation that was just as heavy, if not more than everything else. It was… he was… He was staring into the eyes of his soulmate. He was staring into the eyes of the man who brought the gift of colour into his life.

His eyes were burning as he stared, his body tingling all over as it adjusted itself to the frequency of the universe. As…

“Out of the question,” the other one said, his eyes suddenly hard, his frown harsh.

Greg felt a stinging sensation in his head as the shared gaze was interrupted. The other man stormed out of the room, leaving him to crumble where he stood, the warm sensation leaving his body and a cold dread creeping into his bones.


	5. Chapter 5

The room was stockstill for a moment, frozen in the aftermath. Then one member of the politician’s team cleared his throat.

“The meeting will be postponed. Please let us know of a new date that suits you,” he said and waved for the rest of the group to follow him.

They left together without another comment, and suddenly the room was empty, leaving Greg, who was shaking in Sally’s arms. She took a deep breath and looked up at the intern.

“Lucy. Get the staff doctor in here. We need an emergency response kit. Tell her to bring the shots.”

“Sally, I’m—”

“No. You don’t have a say in this, Greg. You know as well as I do that the first hours are the most important. Lucy, get to it.”

“Right away,” Lucy replied and the last Greg saw of her was her long, bright ponytail trailing behind her out of the door. Bright… bright… blonde? He tested the word in his mind. It seemed right, but that was based merely on learned knowledge. He laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“The world really should come with labels. How am I supposed to know what colour that is?” he muttered.

Sally smiled at her partner as she eased him onto a chair, took his jacket to prevent him from overheating. He was already warming up fast. There was a protocol in place to support forming soulmate bonds and she’d try to follow it to the letter. She’d simply never thought she would have to do it for Greg and told him as much.

“Also there’s an app with a colour comparison chart. Apparently does some sort of fancy colour recognition with the camera too. Be happy. There’s a whole new world out there to learn,” she said, her voice supportive but also a tad wistful.

“I’m sorry,” Greg said.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. This is anything but your fault. We’ll reschedule this and—”

The door opened.

“Dr Thompson is here,” Lucy said and let the woman into the room behind her.

Greg lifted his head and grinned at the doctor, who put an armful of things on the table, glass clinking as it came into contact with the wood. He felt ridiculous, suddenly so powerless, everyone fussing about him. He watched Sally explain what had happened, just as Lucy put a glass of water in front of him. Both of them seemed worried.

“Where’s his soulmate?” he heard Dr Thompson ask and the question dug like a hit iron into his head.

“He ran off,” Sally said. “They saw each other for a minute at most, then he was gone.”

“Not ideal. But not detrimental. He’ll have a harder time without him, of course.”

“I’m still here, you know?” Greg mumbled.

Dr Thompson held up the syringe, which was filled with a yellow-ish liquid. Greg swallowed. He hated needles, had always hated them. But even he knew that the body needed support to go though these changes, the new world order. There was no going back, and with this small shot he’d be spared a lot of pain. Well, everyone was going through this differently. He hoped he’d be spared the worst of it.

“Of course, detective. My apologies. Your arm?”

Greg slipped his left arm out of the sleeve and flinched as Dr Thompson put the needle through the skin, imagining he could feel the cocktail burn through his veins.

“Mycroft Holmes,” Sally said, scrolling through a document on her laptop.

“What?” Greg replied.

“That’s his name. Your soulmate. Mycroft Holmes.”

She turned the screen around and Greg was confronted with the picture of Mycroft Holmes. Well, a less than flattering staff picture that made him look incredibly flat and frankly unappealing. Then again staff pictures did that to you. But the eyes were still there. The sky-coloured eyes. He swallowed.

“Ministry of Transport?” he asked, more to distract from the rising emotion in his chest… but he was curious. “What was he even doing here? Who okayed this list?”

“The super. He’s nestled in at the bottom. Probably slipped through…” Sally mused.

“Yeah. Probably…” Greg mumbled. “Maybe…”

“I know what you mean. Seems fishy. Sorry to say that about your…”

“Don’t worry. We don’t know him. I don’t know him.”

Sally sighed. “You will.”

Greg flinched as Dr Thompson put the next needle in his arm. She patted his shoulder in commiseration.

“I’m not sure I will,” he said, his gaze averted to take another look at the sky, which slowly turned ever more into the deep colour of these eyes which fascinated him so. “Did you see how he ran off?”

“Shock. Not uncommon,” Dr Thompson chimed in. “Try and contact him. You’ll be running a fever for the next two weeks, and it’ll be much more manageable when you sync at least every two days or so. You don’t have to fall madly in love at first sight… in fact that almost never happens. Just talk it out. The media is putting unreasonable standards in our heads… making the whole thing seem like a Disney film. Well, Disney is also responsible…”

“Thank you, doctor,” Greg said and held his head to the side so she could measure his temperature. The small thermometer beeped in his ear.

“38.2 already. Alright. I’m giving you an initial supply, with more going to be delivered to you tomorrow. The instructions are on the packages. High temperature is normal, as are headaches, vertigo, nausea. Pains all over the body like a bad flu. I’ll be referring you to a specialist, who’ll check in with you daily. Any unusual symptoms, anything at all, you tell them, understood?”

“Yes,” Greg confirmed.

“If you feel like you’re not up to taking care of yourself, there are rooms available in any big hospital. Your specialist will be able to consult you.”

“Alright,” Greg said. His head was swimming. It didn’t actually feel like this was happening to him, but then he saw the colourful brooch on Dr Thompson’s shirt. “Is that red?” he asked.

The doctor smiled. “Magenta. A sort of purple.”

“Oh, god, I’m sorry… I wasn’t trying to assume… I just…”

“It’s fine, I’m not offended. Take the time off to learn. You’ll be on three week’s leave, four if your body takes longer.”

Greg shook his head. “Feels wrong, especially now.”

Sally put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t let up on the case. We’ll get him.”

“Keep me updated, please?”

Sally looked to Dr Thompson, who was filling a plastic bag with various small packages.

“It’s his body not his mind. He can work if he feels like it, just should be at home if there’s a surge in adjustment, so he has a place to retreat.”

Greg slipped back into his shirt, started buttoning it up. “You make me sound like some wounded animal.”

“Just take care, okay?” Dr Thompson said as she handed him the bag. “There’s no set rules. Common sense.”

Ten minutes later, Sally had pushed Greg into her car, driving him home. Their superiors had been notified. Greg had been a bit mortified, but there was nothing else to do. As soon as Sally had him settled, he allowed her to fuss for a few minutes longer until he told her gently, but firmly to go.

“I’m getting you that contact,” she said at the door.

“What?”

“I’ll ask the one who sent the list to give me the details of this Mycroft Holmes. You need to be able to contact him.”

“Ah, yes. That would be great. I…”

“Greg, it’s fine. You don’t have to explain anything to me. Sleep on it. Take care, yes?”

They shared a quick hug and then she was gone. Greg stared at the closed door for a minute, then shook his head. He snatched his phone from the kitchen counter and opened the app store. The colour learning app was featured and he found it quickly. It was a revelation to finally put names to concepts. Pushing the whole Mycroft Holmes issue out of his mind he took the app to his bedroom to check what kinds of fashion disasters he’d been wearing unknowingly during the better part of the last decade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next we’ll see how Mycroft is coping...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short update from Mycroft’s side...

Mycroft watched as the door of the car opened and closed, but he didn’t consciously realise that Anthea had slipped into the interior until she put a hand on his forehead. She clicked her tongue, slightly annoyed and reached for her phone as the car started moving again. In a clipped tone she ordered someone to do something. Mycroft pushed his cheek against the cool glass.

“Sir?” she asked.

Mycroft hummed in acknowledgment.

“We’re taking you straight home. Your doctor will be there. Everything’s taken care of.”

“Mhmm…” Mycroft replied.

“I’ve taken the liberty of having your portion of the breakfast delivered directly to your house,” she added.

“Thank you,” he said, had to smile, cautiously eyeing the blur of the rushing landscape. “The meeting?”

“Postponed. Their side was also… compromised,” Anthea said carefully.

Only then did the fact that his state was the result of a soulmate bond filter back into Mycroft’s mind. He shuddered. He had accepted that he’d be living in the greyscale world for his whole life, had wasted absolutely no thought capacity to the fact that another person would come into play. Another person, who needed to be accommodated, possibly even cared for.

Loved?

No. That was something he had absolutely no room for. His life wasn’t laid out like that. His job was… 

“How are you feeling?” Anthea asked.

Mycroft looked to his right, realising for the first time that he could see the colour of Anthea’s dress. She had told him in the morning. Cerulean, she had said. A shade of blue. Vivid. That was the word that came to mind. He didn’t have many opportunities to use it before, but now he felt like it applied to everything in the world.

“Strange. Hot. Tingly,” he said. “Exhausted. The car ride isn’t doing me any favours, I admit.”

“Rushhour,” Anthea stated. “It’ll be a while yet. The doctor said to keep your eyes closed and drink a lot of water.”

“There will be a supplement later, I take it?”

“Yes. Several shots.”

Mycroft hummed. He discarded his jacket, leaned his head back against the cool window. He felt his brain slowly slip offline. Fascinated by the splashes of colour in the world he went against the doctor’s recommendation and stared out of the window until he developed a headache so splitting he couldn’t keep them open anymore. Anthea did a few more calls next to him, but while he heard her talk, the actual words didn’t filter through anymore. Pathetic, he chastised himself, but knew that it was pointless. It wasn’t his fault. No.

It was Detective Lestrade’s fault. His rational mind supplied that it was actually no one’s fault but the universe’s, but Mycroft didn’t believe in this fate nonsense. Lestrade had investigated, basically forced Mycroft to take action, which had resulted in the meeting. Ergo, his fault.

“Should you want to contact the other party, the details have been forwarded to you. The doctor will most likely recommend—”

“No,” Mycroft said sternly and left it at that.

Anthea was chastised and kept quiet. Mycroft felt bad for his harsh reaction, but he had no patience to explain himself there and then. He was quick to say no… and yet the world was blooming brightly in front of his eyes, filling him with an awe and wonder he hadn’t felt since childhood.

The glory would fade if they didn’t meet again. They had to meet again at some point. While Mycroft tried to reconcile this fact with his current life, he passed out, face sliding down the window of the car before he fell over.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they properly meet for the first time...

Greg stared at the door of the townhouse at the end of the gated mews. His first thought was that he’d only ever set foot in one of these once, and that had been for a murder case. His second thought went out to the tasteful flower pots at the entrance, an arrangement in white, blue and violet. He’d carefully studied the names of the colours the night before, though he expected to be making mistakes for a while yet. Still, it was exhilarating.

“This way, please,” the woman named Anthea said and gestured for him to follow her through the door, which she unlocked with a keycard.

Greg walked after her, slightly dazed… and not only because of the temperature he was still running. How had he even come to be here? A phone call shortly after noon. A distressed sounding voice, a plea to help. Greg had been feeling reasonably well while the changes ran through his body, but his soulmate apparently wasn’t so lucky.

“Again, thank you so much for agreeing to come over at such a short notice…” she said as she led him up the narrow stairs.

“Not at all…” Greg mumbled. “I mean, it’s kinda my responsibility, isn’t it?”

“There’s no official rules that make it so,” Anthea replied.

“Well, moral responsibility, then. I mean, it’s called soulmate for a reason, isn’t it?” he said, laughing helplessly. 

It was weird talking about a man he had never even properly met and called him his soulmate. But then again, all bonds started out like this by necessity. A first glance and it was a done deal.

“That is the official designation,” she replied diplomatically. “In any case, I have to warn you… Mr Holmes wasn’t very keen on meeting you again yesterday, and we haven’t gotten a sensible word out of him all day today, so the doctor recommended at least a short sync. As Mr Holmes’ health care proxy, I okayed the treatment. I don’t know how welcome you will be, but…”

Greg waited for Anthea to find the right words, as she sighed and softened, her expression turning from detached to empathetic.

“Mr Holmes is a very private person by design and choice. It’s to do with his profession, but also with his preferences. I fear he has so categorically assumed to never have a soulmate bond, he’s eliminated the possibility for himself altogether. This doesn’t mean you aren’t wanted… it just… please be patient with him. Don’t be offended. It’s all I ask.”

Greg’s eyes softened in turn, and he nodded.

“You care for him,” he said.

“I owe him a great deal,” she simply replied. “He’s a… good person, at heart. It doesn’t always show.”

“Not always, huh? Like when he advises the media to spin fairy tales about a certain politician, who is to be convicted for soulmate exploitation, for example?”

“Never try to outsmart a detective,” Anthea replied ruefully.

They had reached a heavy wooden door at the end of a long corridor, which led Greg to believe that the three townhouses at the end of the mews had been made into one, otherwise they’d never been able to walk that far.

Greg took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not here to accuse anyone. I don’t even know him. Let us get this over with and we’ll talk when we’re both in better shape. And if he wants to explain, discuss or fight then, so be it.”

“At least you share some sort of rationality. Please, follow me.”

Anthea knocked at the door, and when they received no answer, she opened it carefully, stuck her head in. Only after checking the room herself did she open the door completely to wave Greg in.

It was the complete absence of colour that struck Greg first. In his own home he had dragged in whatever he’d gotten his hands on with no regard to even thinking about the potential hues, just arranging everything as brightly as possible. With his eyes open to this new world he’d sat in his living room and laughed for at least ten minutes at his absolute mess of a couch and pillow arrangement, all on a screamingly orange carpet. He hadn’t cared back then, why would he have? At least now it was a source of amusement. Here, however… there wasn’t much to laugh about.

The paneling on the walls was a tasteful brown, and the carpet a subdued, dark red. That’s where the colour ended. No accents, no plants. Just an enormous bed, all black cloth. The furniture had been painted in a varnish so dark it might as well have been black, the curtain drawn back only a fraction to shine a modicum of light at the scene, so that Greg didn’t trip over the carpet. Anthea approached the bed, fussed over the blankets and then waved Greg closer.

At that moment it struck him that she was there. She cared, yes, but she was obviously a work colleague, an assistant. Where was this man’s family? Just then he kicked himself mentally. There was no need to assume. Greg was also pretty much alone. Never married, parents had moved to France for their retirement. It didn’t do to judge people like this.

“He’s still asleep,” Anthea said.

Greg looked down at the pale face of the man who had rejected him after having barely seen him. Who was on the team that actively worked to… No. He couldn’t go into this biased. Greg took a deep breath. Mycroft Holmes. He looked small and pale, sweat on his skin. He was shivering in his sleep.

“He really has it much worse than me…” Greg mumbled.

“Running a fever of over 40 last night… I wouldn’t have called you without his knowledge if it wasn’t serious.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Anthea raised an eyebrow at Greg’s thanks, but left it at that. She gently shook Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Mr Holmes?” she said softly. “Mr Holmes you need to wake up.”

The disgruntled groan that Greg heard next was by far the cutest he’d ever witnessed. He was glad that none of them was looking into his direction as he was trying to suppress a delighted grin.

“Mr Holmes?”

“...thea?” Mycroft mumbled, sleep drunken.

His voice sounded so parched that Greg automatically reached for the glass of water on the side table and handed it to Anthea, who received it gratefully. She helped Mycroft drink a few sips and he fell back into the pillow with a sigh.

“Is the doctor back already?” he asked, evidently having realised that someone else was in the room.

“No. Not yet. Your condition has worsened considerably and it’s necessary to—”

At that Mycroft sat up so fast he almost fell over. He held his head, which was evidently swimming as he stared at Greg so hard that his eyes almost fell out of his head. As they locked gazes, the whole room around Greg seemed to come alive. Everything was glowing, the saturation of even the muted colours shot up to celebrate. He felt a shiver run through his body, but instead of bringing a fever it actually felt cooling.

It looked like Mycroft had wanted to protest, but he could see much of the same changes in his body. He held himself less rigidly, let go of his head. His whole frame relaxed as they stared full of wonder and anxiety. Greg didn’t dare interrupt the endeavour, and only after he saw Mycroft slump back, sitting against the headrest comfortably, did he hold out his hand.

“Hello. Greg Lestrade,” he simply said.

Mycroft bit his lip. His eyes darted briefly towards Anthea, who had taken a step back during the synchronisation. Then he took Greg’s offered hand in his and shook it briefly.

“Mycroft Holmes,” he answered.

Greg felt a flush of warmth go through his body as their skin touched and only reluctantly let go. He wondered if Mycroft had felt it too. If yes, he didn’t give any indication.

“How long did the doctor say?” Mycroft asked without breaking the shared gaze.

“Five minutes should do you both good for about two days,” Anthea replied.

Greg swallowed. Yes, of course. He was here as a treatment, not a soulmate, he thought wistfully. He tried to read Mycroft’s mind through his eyes, but for all the beauty they showed, they clouded his thoughts expertly. So he had to ask.

“What were you doing at the meeting yesterday? Your file says Ministry of Transport. Not exactly what that was about,” he said.

Mycroft’s features didn’t even move.

“Just because you work as a DI, doesn’t mean you can’t also be good at football,” he replied.

“Great at football,” Greg countered. “Amazing, even.”

“Exactly,” Mycroft said. “And I might just be amazing at negotiations.”

“I’m inclined to believe you. Still doesn’t tell me why you were there.”

Mycroft grinned, and there was actual, surprising mirth in it. “Never try to outsmart a detective.”

“That’s what Anthea said,” Greg replied. “I have a feeling you won’t answer my question regardless.”

“No. I won’t. You’re playing for the opposing team. A shared interest now doesn’t make a shared interest in this other matter.”

Greg sighed wistfully. “You’re right. A man of principle. I can admire that, at least… even if the principles themselves are more than a bit skewed.”

“Are they?”

“Look, I’m not going to argue with you now. I had a shit night and it looks like you had it worse. I’m happy I could relieve some of your pain and I hope you will take this temporary peace to rest for two days… and if you will have me, I will come around again to repeat this.”

“And if I won’t have you?” Mycroft said, but his attempt at a steely tone was undermined by a hand bunching the blanket nervously.

“Then you won’t. I can’t promise you anything, but I will try not to push,” Greg said and looked down at his wristwatch. “Alright, that’s been easily over ten minutes. I’ll see myself out.”

Before Mycroft could reply, Greg took his hand and put a light kiss on the skin, which nevertheless seemed to burn like fire on his lips. He licked them once and smiled at Mycroft before he turned and left the room. There was no one to call him back, and he hadn’t expected there to be. He was glad to have left when he did. It had been hard standing up to this man, who seemed to have it more together than Greg ever had in his life, even while his own body was beating him up.

Mycroft Holmes was intimidating… and also dangerously attractive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woop woop!


	8. Chapter 8

A whole day had gone by without a message. To be honest, Greg hadn’t actually expected one. Mycroft was guarded to the extreme. He had probably been only the third ever person to enter the man’s bedroom. But he promised he wouldn’t push and Greg was a man to keep his promises… even though the relief that coursed through his body even a day later was hard to ignore. All chemical, he told himself. Magical, probably too.

Out of curiosity he had gone through the most common types of magic that people usually developed after a soulmate bond, but none seemed to work. Nothing elemental, no wind or fire. He was secretly glad, since that would make him a third-rate parlour magician at best and a knockoff super hero at worst. No telekinesis either, not even able to lift a piece of paper. Invisibility was out, as were things like super vision or hearing. He was scrolling through a list of the more uncommon types—like being able to see ultraviolet—when there was a noise at his door.

Only belatedly did he realise that the noise wasn’t a knock or even a key—it was a lockpick. Just as he wanted to jump up from his armchair, the intruder was already in his apartment.

“Sherlock,” he said, slumped back into the seat.

“You haven’t contacted me again.”

“Very well observed, well done you. What a great detective you are. Gold stars all around.”

Sherlock scoffed. Then his eyes widened as he took in Greg’s state. “You bonded.”

“That obvious? Well, it was an accident, as these things usually go. I won’t be working for a few weeks… sorry I can’t get you on any cases in the meantime.”

“That’s not why I’m here. I read the newspapers and wanted to ask if you’re still going ahead with the whole legal affair,” Sherlock said and walked over to Greg, leaned down to stare into his eyes.

Greg allowed it for the moment, though he did feel crowded in his armchair. Sherlock had never registered as a threat to him, more like an overly curious toddler. “Sally was here earlier. The court date is on the 17th. We have the evidence and the initial statements, which condemn him pretty effectively.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

Sherlock took Greg’s chin and turned his head to the side, then leaned in to sniff at his neck. Greg had already resigned himself to indulging the other man’s curiosity, merely suppressed a giggle when Sherlock’s breath tickled on his skin. The detective drew back after a moment, then grabbed Greg’s hands to inspect his nails for… something?

“Of course it’s wise. He’s a criminal and he’s getting prosecuted.”

“Alright, then… let me rephrase that. If the man is convicted, the victim narrative surrounding him will spiral out of control. The younger soulmate has been bought, the happy trio is pushing a picture of themselves into the public mind that won’t reflect positively on the police if you insist on tearing it apart. Break up the family.”

“But the soulmate—”

“Everyone has a price, and his has apparently been met, no matter how long he’s been held captive before. There are forces at work behind the scenes, which have orchestrated the whole response against you, turned it around so you can only lose. You simply aren’t allowed to win, and so you won’t. Any small victory will be hollow.”

“Why are you warning me?”

“You’re not an idiot since you took my advice, and yet that makes part of the result my responsibility. The final choice is yours, I’m merely advising.”

Greg stared at Sherlock, who was holding his gaze with green-greyish eyes that looked like fog swirled through them. Then a thought fluttered through his head.

“So that’s why he was there. He set up the whole charade… lurking in the background, watching.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide.

“Who?”

“There was someone at the briefing yesterday morning, who didn’t seem to belong. His name was Holm—” Greg stopped himself, then looked up. “Sherlock? Do you have any relatives in the government?”

“You’re not to engage with him any more. He’s too dangerous,” Sherlock hissed.

“Who is he?” Greg asked.

“My archenemy, sometimes brother. Mycroft.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t promise I won’t see him again,” Greg said.

“Why?” Sherlock asked, but even while he was saying it, his brain was already running into the conclusion. “It’s him. He’s your soulmate.”

“Two for two,” Greg quipped. “Get yourself a popsicle from my freezer as a prize on your way out.”

Sherlock turned away, but he didn’t leave. Instead he put both hands on his head, ruffled his hair. “That can’t be…” he muttered. “Not Mycroft.”

“Why?” Greg asked.

“To be honest, I’m almost convinced he’s a robot. Only my empirical knowledge of seeing him grow up prevents me from believing it. He’s not a good person. He isn’t a person at all. He is a machine that aggregates facts and spits out solutions with no regard for humanity. He’s not a person anyone should get involved with.”

“Sherlock, mate… I don’t think I have a choice, really. And he seemed pretty human yesterday.”

Sherlock shook his head, walked a few steps towards Greg’s kitchen. “He’s helpless with a fever, has always been. That doesn’t make him human. Think about it. He’s the one who engineered the combined media response. The man at the centre is part of one of his stupid, devious plans, and he’s going to push him through no matter what. He doesn’t care for any other consequences.”

Greg’s heart beat faster. Sherlock had turned around again at some point, but Greg couldn’t look him in the eye, rather stared at his shockingly blue scarf… which only reminded him of Mycroft’s eyes.

**Please...**

“Anthea said he is a good person,” he stammered, possibly more to convince himself.

“Anthea is so deep in his pocket, it’s a wonder she hasn’t taken residence in his sock drawer. You can’t trust her and you can’t trust him.”

Greg reached for the can of lemonade and took a thoughtful sip. “Why should I believe you?” he asked.

“Look at the evidence. Look at your case. How can you refute the facts?” Sherlock pretty much shouted.

“I can’t. But I also don’t know if they’re all the facts. I need more data to form a basis on which to decide.”

Sherlock laughed then, loud and genuine. “We’re not so different, you and I. There’s a reason I like you. Very well, I can see that the circumstances are not stacked in my favour, but I’d feel bad if I didn’t warn you off. He will hurt you, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Working soulmate relationships can be business relationships. We don’t have to like each other. As soon as the bond is settled, it’s enough to meet up every month for an hour or so to recharge. We don’t even have to talk.”

“Ah, yes,” Sherlock mused. “But imagine this: What if the power you grant him is something he shouldn’t have?”

“I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to be doing! I’ve gone through a list, but nothing seems to stick!” Greg complained. “What if I get nothing at all?”

“That’s never happened. There will be something. Studies say you have to concentrate on the colour of your soulmate’s eyes to bring out the power, as sappy as that sounds. It will go easier over time.”

Greg went into himself, brought up the stormy blue of Mycroft’s eyes, momentarily taking his breath away. He willed something, anything to happen, but nothing—

**You poor man. He will ruin you.**

“What?” Greg asked.

“I didn’t say anything,” Sherlock replied.

“But I heard… Oh… Oh!”

**Holy shit.**

“Holy shit indeed.”


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft sat in his garden, staring at the most vibrant flower he’d ever seen. It was yellow and orange, with red streaming out from the centre like veins of fire. He tried to focus most of his mind on this flower, on cataloguing the subtle changes in colours and learning them by heart. He also tried to shut out Anthea, who sat on the other side of the garden, tapping away at a laptop, doing most of the work he’d been deemed too compromised for at the moment.

It wasn’t that she was working—lord knows she was the only qualified person to take over at least a part of Mycroft’s tasks—it was that she was worrying over him so keenly. She didn’t show it, of course. Her face was a mask of professionalism, the distance between them adequate. She didn’t fuss or intruded overly. No… he could see the worry that she felt deep down like a physical entity in the room.

It wasn’t actually there, mind you. Not like a hallucination. No special effects, no real life emojis (oh, Mycroft hated that word). It was like a physical sensation that translated into her emotional state when he looked at her, a pressure in his brain that simply let him know as if he’d known all along, as if this was a thing you could just perceive naturally, had always been able to.

He looked at Anthea and he could see her worry. The anxiety. And as lunch hour approached also a hungry spectre that seemed to grow exponentially. So he didn’t look. Not often. He had to come to terms with the implications first.

So.

1 - Being able to perceive emotions was a positive thing in context of his work. Exposed, hidden desires could be used to twist an argument.

2 - It felt like cheating. There were telltale signs of all emotions already in a person's actions. He prided himself on being able to read them, and this shortcut felt like cheating himself out of years of practice.

3 - He didn’t care for the emotional state of others outside his work. What if he wasn’t able to turn it off completely? The thought of being crowded by these emotions for the rest of his life horrified him.

4 - If anyone learned about this, he’d become known as Mycroft the Empath, the worst superhero to ever have existed.

Mycroft reigned in the urge to punch the flower and stood up from the grass to look into Anthea’s direction instead. As she looked back at him, he felt almost overwhelmed by her concern, pressing against him like a strong wind. There would need to be an adjustment phase where he could regulate the thing. But as everything else was still in flux at the moment, he had no illusion of this going anywhere soon.

There was just one thing he needed to solve immediately, because of a generally known fact: It was usual for two soulmates to come into the same magic, since they shared the same frequency. Statistically there was a more than 90% chance of Greg having received the same power. The small rest developed a power that was adjacent to their soulmate—not the same, but close. There had never been a recorded case where two soulmates had completely diverged. That was just not something which happened.

He had to know. Had to ask Greg what his ability was. You didn’t have to tell anyone, and the powers weren’t registered, just like soulmate bonds weren’t. You didn’t ask people about it, least of all their powers. It was still taboo, in a way. Some people openly showed their powers, others kept them hidden their whole lifes.

“Anthea?” he asked across the garden.

“Yes, sir?” she replied.

“I feel like the fever is slowly returning. Could you… could you ask Lestrade to come in again this evening?” he heard himself lying.

“Of course,” she said.

She didn’t comment on the fact that Mycroft didn’t call Lestrade himself. She merely went ahead with the task. Mycroft could see the pressure of her worry recede and started to breathe easier himself in turn. When this was over he’d send her into an extended holiday. For now he had to try hard not to smile as in place of the worry, a tangible hunger creeped up around Anthea like a cloudy monster.

“When you’re done you can come into the kitchen,” he said softly. “We should have lunch.”


	10. Chapter 10

Greg had been quiet throughout the drive in the anonymous black car, which had picked him up from his apartment in the northeast of London and slowly but surely brought him ever closer towards Kensington. A few hours earlier he’d gotten another call from Anthea. (He didn’t even know her last name…) She had asked him to come over to Mycroft’s house again for another sync. Her employer’s condition wasn’t as bad as last time, but surely it was better to be safe than sorry? Greg had immediately agreed. On one hand, it also benefited himself, on the other he was eager to find out more about the man, who the universe had somehow deemed his soulmate. Wanted to see if Sherlock’s opinion rang true. He didn’t expect it to be quite as dark as Sherlock has made it out to be, but… well… time would tell.

He watched the gate to the mews open slowly and observed the other houses as they drove by. Every single one painted white, black iron gates, all windows covered by curtains. Tasteful arrangements of shrubs and flowers in ornately decorated pots. It was beautiful, yes… but it was also artificial. Like an open air dollhouse, of which you could remove the front and see the puppets positioned as the perfect family around the table.

When they arrived at the end of the street, the driver walked around the car to open Greg’s door. He took a deep breath and joined Anthea, who was already waiting.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

Greg shook his head and left it at that.

This time they remained on the ground floor of the building, walking towards the back. The corridor was rather narrow with a low ceiling, the wooden flooring creaking slightly under the carpet as they went. Greg gasped audibly when they reached the room at the end. The ceiling had been taken out to form a large space, two floors high, with the outside wall completely replaced by glass windows, allowing a view up into the sky. There was a dining table in the middle of the room, on which a metal sculpture of a stag throned prominently. He looked up to find that on the upper floor the walls were removed to form a gallery all around, accessible by a narrow spiral staircase, made of incredibly detailed wrought iron. He could make out countless shelves on the upper level, like a private library. It all had a very clean, modern style with the charm of a magician’s research study.

For a moment he just stood there, gazing with an open mouth, dumbstruck. Then Anthea cleared her throat and gestured towards the window. Outside was Mycroft, sitting at a smaller table and reading a book, tea set nearby. Greg swallowed.

Fuck. I think I’m—

“Through here, now,” Anthea said when Greg didn’t move and he followed her meekly.

He didn’t consciously read her thoughts. Had practiced extensively with Sherlock the night before to not just jump into someone’s head. It was hard, but the detective had been uncharacteristically indulgent. Then he looked towards Mycroft and was relieved to let some of his concentration slip. It was true, then.

Magical abilities didn’t work on your own soulmate. 

Invisible people were visible to their soulmate, telekinesis didn’t affect them. And so he couldn’t jump into Mycroft’s head. He was glad, he really was. It would’ve felt like an unforgivable invasion of privacy, even done accidentally, no matter how much he wanted to know what thought went through that enigmatic mind. Curiously he saw the same sort of relief on Mycroft’s face, before he schooled it again. But the soulbound connection was still there, between them like an invisible pull. He wondered if Mycroft felt it too. That deep seated feeling of contentment. He had to, right?

“Lestrade, thank you for joining me again.”

“Please, it’s Greg.”

“Very well. Mycroft.”

“Alright.”

“Take a seat,” Mycroft said and waved to the chair on the opposite side of the table, then turned towards Anthea, and even the short interruption of their gazes went like a small shockwave through Greg’s nerves. “That will be all for now, thank you. Leave us and take the evening off.”

“Sir?” Anthea asked.

Greg looked at her.

**Mycroft, you don’t know him.**

“I promise I’ll be gentle with him. Please don’t worry,” Greg said before he could stop himself.

Both Mycroft and Anthea looked at him and suddenly he felt pinned beneath their shared gazes like deer in the headlights.

“I’m sure I can take care of myself. Lestr… Greg here is a member of the police force. Surely you couldn’t find a more suitable person to safeguard my honour?” Mycroft said and Greg immediately fell in love with the cheeky smirk that accompanied his words.

Anthea didn’t seem completely convinced, but she nodded anyway.

“Have a good evening. Mr Holmes, Mr Lestrade.”

They watched her walk back into the house, then towards the exit. Greg let his eyes wander over to Mycroft and then further to the garden surrounding them. It was a small, intimate affair, the tiny gardens of the three townhouses put together to form something that was only just big enough to count. A porch covered two thirds of it, trees at the edges provided the cover that the walls couldn’t. It was slightly cool in the shadows, the vegetation around him consisted largely of overgrown ferns with a few flowering bushes where the sun hit the tiny bit of lawn.

“It’s beautiful,” Greg stammered. “The garden… the house… I had no time to really appreciate it last time but… wow.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft replied, looking very pleased. “It took a long time to carve out this space for myself.”

“Then excuse me for intruding.”

“I invited you. It’s very kind of you to join me at such short notice. Tea?”

“Thanks, that would be lovely.”

Mycroft reached for the teapot and carefully filled the second cup, which had already been set out in preparation.

“Not about to be thrown out as soon as our five minutes are over, then?” he joked, trying to make it sound lighthearted.

“I’d rather you stay for dinner,” Mycroft said.

“What changed your mind?”

Mycroft pushed the cup over the table, put sugar and cream in Greg’s reach. Then he reached for his own, took a sip, looked thoughtfully at Greg over the rim of the cup.

“There’s much we need to discuss. I wasn’t in the right condition—mentally or physically—to engage in a conversation of this magnitude the last time we saw each other.”

Greg nodded. “That’s true. I was neither. But, to be honest, I’m not sure if I’m now…”

“Then how about we just talk? Get to know each other before the hard questions,” Mycroft suggested, put his cup down and reached for one of the chocolate-covered biscuits. “I admit I’m intrigued by the man, who the universe has pushed in my path, so rudely interrupting my life.”

“Believe me, it’s not easy for me either… But, yes. I’d like that. Getting to know you. Though I feel you might be disappointed, seeing… well, all of this.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Worldly possessions are not the measure by which to judge a man’s character. Well, there’s exceptions, of course. I could have a tiger in my living room. Then you’d be right to judge me.”

Greg laughed, the tension dropping from his shoulders. “I had a cat, once. Not a tiger, though.”

“I fear my lifestyle doesn’t support pets.”

“Oh, that was ages ago. I’m much too busy for a pet nowadays. Irregular schedule… I suppose you know about that sort of thing.”

Mycroft smiled wryly. “More than you know.”

They fell into silence again, each sizing the other up. There was something intimate about being able to closely observe another person like this that Greg decided he liked very much. Yet it didn’t help his nerves. He couldn’t dance around the issue that had been weighing on his mind the whole day.

“Did you develop your magical ability yet?” he blurted out, taking Mycroft by surprise.

“...yes,” the other replied cautiously. “You?”

“Last night… So what’s yours?”

Mycroft didn’t want to answer. You could see it in every rigid line of his body. If he’d been a cat, Greg was sure he’d be hissing. A storm seemed to go through his head. Then he opened his mouth and spat out a word as if it had murdered his family.

“Empathy.”

“Empathy? So… emotions?”

“Yes. I can read people’s emotional states. Their desires. It’s not… defined, but it’s there.”

“And you can’t read mine?”

Mycroft shook his head. “No. Powers don’t work on your soulmate. And the surprise you’ve shown me leads me to believe you gained a different power.

Greg nodded. Then he saw Mycroft raise an eyebrow in obvious expectation.

“I can hear people’s thoughts,” he all but whispered.

Mycroft stood up so quickly that the table  
rattled and the sugar bowl fell over, as if he’d been bitten suddenly by a snake. His eyes were wide and… fearful?

“What?” Greg asked confusedly.

“No one can know… No one!” Mycroft stammered, his earlier composure forgotten. “You can’t tell anyone!”

“Yeah, I figured. It’s rare and… well, invasive.”

Mycroft’s face grew red as something seemed to whirl through his head. “You can’t tell anyone if you have any desire to pursue this relationship in any form in the future. You can’t.”

Greg swallowed. “Why?”

“It would ruin me!” he shouted.

Mycroft all but bolted and disappeared into the interior of the house.


	11. Chapter 11

Somehow Mycroft ended up in the kitchen. It was the furthest room away from the garden, currently the darkest one on the ground floor. But that was not why Mycroft’s feet had found the way. Automatically he stumbled to the sink and turned on the water, let the ice cold liquid run over his hands as he panted, shivering. He had to concentrate. Had to. He felt the panic creeping up on him, his breath coming in short bursts. If he could only concentrate on the painful cold he would calm down. It was a strange method, but it was the one that worked for him on the rare occasions on which his treacherous body betrayed him. He thought he had himself under control… usually that was the case. Yet usually his life wasn’t threatened by a force outside his control.

He was so focused on the water, he didn’t even realise that Greg had followed him until the other put his head next to him. Mycroft jumped in shock.

“Easy. I’m just here because I want to understand what’s going on,” Greg said slowly.

Mycroft shook his head.

“Alright. Can you turn the water off?”

Mycroft shook his head again. Greg sighed.

“Can I hold you?” he asked. “I’ve read that the shared frequency can help with calming…”

“Why?”

“Mycroft, look… I don’t know how else to say it, since we really don’t know each other, but we can’t change what has happened, and we have to live with it. I want to make the best of this that I can, and… and… it hurts. It hurts me physically to see you in distress like this. Maybe it’s the soulbond, maybe it’s the fact that I can’t keep my nose out of anything, really… but… please, just let me hold you? Let’s both calm down and then you can explain exactly what you’re so afraid of.”

Mycroft released a deep breath in a shudder. With shaking hands he turned off the water, looked down at his skin, which had turned even paler than usual. Then he felt it creeping up on him, and since there was no way to stop it, he turned around and buried his face in Greg’s shoulder, so that he wouldn’t see the tears that started overflowing without his consent. With a tremor that ran through his arms he cautiously put them around Greg, who wrapped his own arms around Mycroft in turn.

“Damn your hands are freezing,” Greg said.

“Helps me to concentrate,” Mycroft mumbled against Greg’s shoulder.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“...that’s the point.”

“Come on.”

Greg carefully rearranged them, so that Mycroft’s hands were between their bodies. He could feel them against his own chest and knew that Greg must feel them too, but he just held Mycroft closer. Mycroft sighed and gave up. He was only glad that there was no one else around who could see him surrender to this ridiculous situation. They stood like this for a while, just listening to the other breathe. Mycroft felt his body tingle as the frequencies synced up in a way that a mere gaze couldn’t achieve.

“I don’t like how this feels.”

“What?” Greg asked.

“This. All of it. How right it feels. As if this mere coincidence, this accident could dictate my emotions. Nudge me by making my body spit out chemicals.”

“I get it. I don’t like it either. It feels hard to think. I just want to… give in,” Greg mumbled.

Mycroft laughed. “Yeah, that’s what it feels like. But I can’t. Not until we discuss this.”

“Fine by me. Are you better?”

“Yes… thank you.”

“Any time,” Greg replied.

They separated slowly, Mycroft not even daring to look into Greg’s eyes when he asked the next question. “What’s your security clearance? National security, I mean.”

Greg seemed to stumble on the subject. “Uh… like any police officer. DIs have a few more liberties, but I’ve signed nothing out of the ordinary.”

“How would you like to be bumped up to PM level?”

“Why?”

“I could force you to keep quiet. I could tell you a lie or a half-truth… but to be honest… I like you, Greg. Lord help me, I do like you. I don’t know if it’s the chemicals in my brain or just… you… but… I can’t tell you the whole truth without clearance,” Mycroft said and then he did look up. “And you don’t seem surprised.”

“The cars? Anthea? I mean, look around…”

“I told you that worldly possessions are not… I inherited most of the money. I inherited one of the houses. I don’t like to puff myself up and claim… Ugh… Just tell me, yes or no?”

Greg simply stared at him wordlessly for at least a minute. Mycroft let him. This wasn’t an easy decision. Knowledge came with danger. But then Greg nodded.

“Yes. Okay. I want to know.”

Mycroft took the phone from his pocket and sent a quick text to Anthea. She would take care of the rest. The paperwork had already been prepared. This was a scenario that had been anticipated at some point. Just not exactly like that.

“Alright. Would you like to sit down?” Mycroft asked.

When Greg agreed, he led the way back into the large room, pulled out a chair at the dining table and gestured for Greg to sit, joining him on the adjacent seat. Greg looked expectantly, his shoulders tense. Mycroft smiled. He didn’t need his new power to read this man. He was so refreshingly transparent.

“I work with all levels of government to assure smooth sailing in all daily business matters regarding the UK. I am not the one who holds all the strings, but I am the one who knows where they all are, and how they’re tangled up. I keep an overview of… well, everything that goes on in the country and consult any and all departments on sensible decisions. There’s nothing I can’t know and nowhere I can’t go.”

Greg’s breathing speed had increased considerably while Mycroft was talking, his fingers dug into his trousers in nervous anxiety. When he spoke, his voice was a bit smaller than before.

“If you’re that important, then why were you in the meeting? Isn’t a scandal like that too low for you?”

“Nothing’s too low. It was, no is still, a matter of personal importance. I had to make sure.”

Greg’s eyes darkened. “Make sure of what?”

“Not the issue here. The core of the matter is that because of my position, no one can know of your power. It would mean the end of my career.”

“Why?”

“You’re a detective. Put two and two together,” Mycroft said. “In an overwhelming percentage of cases, soulmates gain the same power. Since your power is apparently to read thoughts—”

“But yours isn’t,” Greg blurted out.

“Ah, but as a negotiating partner, would you take that risk? Would you believe me when I said it wasn’t? Or would you assume that I’m lying to take advantage of the situation? How would you like to discuss crucial topics, handle out favourable deals with someone who is literally inside your head? They would simply refuse to see me outright. And if I’m not present, if I don’t handle the precarious situations, the country would be hurting.”

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit. Look at what’s going on right now. You claim that’s your best effort? That this isn’t hurting?”

Mycroft looked towards the polished table top, in which the stag’s head outline was reflected faintly. The light had begun to fall outside and the room was slowly turning darker.

“That’s why I was at the meeting,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“The current administration isn’t… appreciative of my talents. They’ve vastly cast me aside, pushing their own, reckless agenda. I need someone in charge, who will listen. Who will take my advice and get us out of this mess. It can’t go on like this. I… I love this country too much to see it go to the dogs,” Mycroft pushed out between clenched teeth, barely disguising his anger, hands clenched.

“And you’ve set your sights on that asshole, who imprisoned his soulmate?”

“He might be an asshole, but he’s not an idiot. He won’t be in power forever, but it will give us enough time to start turning this whole mess around. He needs to become mayor of London, collect the goodwill of the people before he goes on, become known. Popular. We can’t put up a nobody.”

Greg pushed himself back from the table, stood up. Mycroft followed him with his gaze, but was scared to see the other glare, eyes harder as he’d ever seen them.

“So you’re begging me to keep this part of me a secret to further your political agenda?”

“To save my career and the country,” Mycroft breathed.

“Thank you for your explanation,” Greg said and turned around. “I will think about what you said. Don’t worry, I won’t be telling anyone about my power until I’ve come to a decision.”

“I believe you,” Mycroft replied, crestfallen to see Greg go, but then pretty much jumped when he suddenly stopped.

“Oh shit,” Greg yelled and whirled around. “Someone knows already! He was there when I found out. We practiced together!”

Mycroft stood up so fast his chair fell over. “Who?”

Greg swallowed. “Your brother. Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha omg I feel like this is taking form, but I have absolutely NO IDEA what the next chapter should be. Will probably need to sleep on it HELP... if I seem like a person with a plan THIS IS NOT THE CASE


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like how this looks like i planned it, but believe me when i say i didn’t

“What was Sherlock, of all people in the world, doing at your place?”

“He was… checking in on the case progress. We got talking. It wasn’t—”

“What case?“ Mycroft asked, emphasising his consonants.

“The soulmate exploitation. Your candidate,” Greg said.

Mycroft clicked his tongue, pulled a phone out and tapped away frantically on the screen. Greg bit his lip.

“The tip that led you to the arrest. It came from Sherlock, no?” he asked, not looking up. “He wasn’t even on your radar before my brother came to you.”

“That’s right,” Greg relied. “You don’t think he chose that particular one on purpose?”

“Likely. He wastes no chance to throw a wrench into my plans. How long did you know him before this?” Mycroft asked, put his phone away and looked into Greg’s eyes.

“About three months. He showed up one day, helped with a case. I thought him… intriguing. He was right, of course, always infuriatingly right.”

Mycroft put his face in both hands.

“So you didn’t think it strange when he came to you with a case of his own? Of course you didn’t. He worked on your trust for months. And… he knew of your work against soulmate exploitation, probably researched you. Your drive to move the laws in that area in the right direction is not exactly a secret. Was it someone you knew?”

“My cousin,” Greg said and sat down at the other end of the table. “She… she… Find it out yourself if you need to know.”

“I won’t pry,” Mycroft said softly and sat down again, looked at Greg over the length of the table, past the legs of the metal stag.

“Sherlock took advantage of me,” Greg stated, the fact only slowly arriving in his mind.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing you need to be sorry about.”

“He used you to get to me, Greg. He chose something that would hurt me, found the best angle to approach and executed it. But he couldn’t have accounted for this. The bond. Though, in a way, this gives him more ammunition than ever.”

Greg looked up, caught Mycroft’s eyes. “We can’t know for sure if that’s what he did.”

“I’ve given the order to arrest him. We will know soon enough.”

“Arrest?” Greg stammered. “For what? You can’t just pick someone off the street like that. It’s illegal.”

“Your concern for the law honours you, but may I remind you that it’s also illegal to stalk people. And that’s what he did. I read the reports. You came to my man through his alleged soulmate wife. You would’ve had to observe her in her daily life to come to these conclusions… and since she hadn’t been implicated when that happened, and the tip came from Sherlock… it’s obvious he stalked her. I have all the grounds I need.”

Greg let Mycroft’s words go through his head and they hit him hard in a way he hadn’t expected.

“I was too glad to get a tip. I didn’t even think about what that meant. He straight up told me he observed her clothes shopping and… I’m such an idiot!”

“A classic doing the wrong sort of thing for the right reasons,” Mycroft mused. “I know a thing or two about that.”

Greg swallowed. He stood up and walked slowly back over to Mycroft, who gazed up at him with curious, magnificent eyes. Greg looked back at Mycroft. Really looked. The pull was still there, but it wasn’t just that. It felt easy, being here, once he gave the whole thing a chance. Not everything was black and white. Life was complicated and often required complicated decisions. It was messy. He probably knew that better than most, with all the troubled people that came through the Yard, their motivations to steal, lie and murder. And yet he had to put them all in a neat box. Label them for prosecution. Take out the motivation and concentrate on the facts. Was that what he’d done here? Judge a whole person, a whole life on the outcome of one incident?

He didn’t want to be that person. Not in his private affairs. And not here, now, when this felt like the most important decision of his life. Sure, he had been catapulted here, but weren’t all of life’s big choices like this? Decisions where neither side was perfect. Where you had to live with the consequences.

In that moment he tried to picture a life in which he’d rejected the man in front of him, and a deep dark hollow opened in his heart. Greg reached for Mycroft’s hand and brought it up to his lips.

“I will try,” he whispered a promise against the pale skin. “I want to try. I’ll stay until Sherlock is found, until we can talk with him. Keep quiet for as long as you need me to. This feels too important. And if I screw up, which I can’t promise I won’t, I only ask you don’t believe I’ve done it on purpose.”

“I believe you. And… I’ll drop my candidate,” Mycroft replied, surprising Greg. “I can’t support him any longer. You’re right, he’s an asshole and I chose him for the wrong reasons. I can start over again with the right person.”

“Mycroft…” Greg whispered, his heart suddenly so full that it threatened to burst. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Stay for dinner. Put everything aside for just a few hours,” Mycroft said and pulled Greg’s hand closer to him, pressed it against his cheek. “Just let me get to know you properly.”

“I’d love that.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry, okay?

It had been his idea… but this was bad. So bad. Mycroft’s heart beat against the inside of his chest as Greg walked past him to get some plates from the cupboard. That’s why he had wanted to keep contact to Greg to a minimum while everything was still to be discussed. That’s why… Ugh. He knew that once he opened his heart, it was wide, wide open. Sherlock was the best example. He was raging with the fire of a thousand suns, but if his brother would ask him for forgiveness, he would give it.

And now. Now… There was an incredibly attractive man alone with him in the same house, sharing his space effortlessly, making him feel warm and safe.

His soulmate.

Mycroft shook himself. It was too late to close down, he realised. Any attempt to temper the flame was met with the gentleness of Greg’s eyes and the fire roared back into life. He was weak. He had already lost. He could only try to escape with his dignity intact. It had been his plan all along, his idea to get Greg on his good side with this dinner, but what he hadn't accounted for were the feelings that had taken hold of him beyond the scheme. Feelings that had pushed him to denounce one of his biggest political efforts in recent years. Of course part of it had been strategic… with the case still looming between them, Greg would’ve been wary at all times, and yet he wondered if it would’ve been better to keep a bargaining chip in hand. No… no, with Sherlock out there as a wild card he needed Greg fully on his side and the evening was progressing quite well in that direction, the turmoil in Mycroft’s chest notwithstanding.

“No alcohol tonight,” Greg said as he took two water glasses from a shelf. “I’d rather do this sober.”

“If I’m honest, I’m already feeling quite drunk with the frequency adjustment… It’s screwing with my head,” Mycroft admitted. “Probably best to skip the wine.”

“Yes, I feel the same. Pity, though. Bet you have a lovely vintage hidden away somewhere.”

“Not a whole cellar, but a rather sizable cabinet, yes. Don’t worry. You’ll get a chance to try some yet.”

“Mycroft Holmes, are you inviting me over again?” Greg said, smiling over at him from the table.

“I honestly don’t know. I haven’t been doing things like this since 500BC.”

Greg didn’t know how accurate Mycroft’s estimation was. His last proper relationship had been at uni… all encounters since had been—or turned out to be—functional at best. He did flirt, but it was only ever to get to the point. It was better that way… a short moment with someone who didn’t know him and wouldn’t come back to haunt him. The encounters were a nice distraction. One particular Korean diplomat at a summit in Seoul two years before was still vivid in his memory. Mycroft didn’t dare let his imagination veer for a moment into that direction with Greg. Not yet.

He stared at Greg. Could physically feel the pull that was between them. They’d shared the kitchen for little over half an hour, preparing a light dinner, talking easily. Mycroft shook himself out of the stupor.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t do it, after all. I’m sorry.”

“Mycroft?” Greg asked from the table.

“It scares me. It feels like I’ve known you for years, like your presence is family, which is ridiculous since I haven’t been this unguarded around my family since I was five.”

“Put the things down. Come over here,” Greg said and Mycroft followed, since the pull wouldn’t even let him think about an alternative.

Greg took him by the hand and wordlessly led him through the house, back to the large room with the windows to the garden, then slowly up the winding iron stairs and right towards a large, plush two-seater, into which he unceremoniously deposited both of them. There was distance between them still, yet it felt intimate in the low light on the gallery.

“Close your eyes, lean back your head.”

It was a testament to how far Mycroft was gone that he immediately obeyed Greg’s words. He sunk back into the cushion, exhaling as the blessed darkness came over him.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Greg said. “The colours, the situation with your brother… learning new powers, and then this soulbond attraction on top? I don’t blame you for tapping out. I feel very confused myself.”

“Are you a therapist now?” Mycroft smiled.

“Not as such, but we have been trained in handling soulbond situations. Common reactions and overreactions. Many violent incidents that are reported stem from bonding. Your body changes on a molecular level to allow the use of magic frequencies, yet you’re supposed to go on and act like you’re normal, like the bond is a love-at-first-sight situation that’s to be envied. It’s a wonder people aren’t running amok on a regular basis.”

Mycroft let himself sink deeper into the cushion, reaching for a pillow to cradle it in front of his chest. “Maybe because soulbonds are so incredibly rare.”

“Solitary bonds are more common than you’d think. So many accidental matches that lose each other for a while, going through these changes alone. We’re lucky, I suppose,” Greg said and from his motions, Mycroft could feel that he’d also leaned back into the cushion.

“Lucky, huh?”

The house was silent around them, so quiet that Mycroft could hear Greg breathe next to him. In this close proximity his right arm, which was closest to Greg, tingled from the shared bond.

“It doesn’t go away, does it? The bond pull,” Mycroft said.

“No. It’s supposed to stay forever. Frequency resonance, it’s called.”

“How will I ever know if the attraction I feel for you is only that, or if it’s real? How can I distinguish the chemicals? How will I be able to tell I’m actually in love?”

“Maybe never,” Greg said quietly.

A tear ran down Mycroft’s face. “I make informed decisions. This isn’t me. This isn’t rational. This is a guess. An attempt with an unknown outcome. A jump into cold water. No, not even a jump. A push.”

“I know,” Greg said, even quieter.

“I feel violated,” Mycroft whispered. “Like someone took my body and made this happen. I had no say in it. I hate it. I hate it… And yet I can’t hate you. You’re not responsible, yet you’re the symbol of everything that crawls under my skin, which makes me want to peel it off until I can find the root of evil and rip it out.”

Then he heard a sob next to him, a deep, heartfelt, ugly sob and he opened his eyes, looked over to see Greg with his face in both hands. His hand shook as he placed it on Greg’s leg. Their eyes met and even through the blurred vision there was something different there than before. A shared understanding, a shared pain. He could see clearly now that Greg felt as hurt as him and it broke his heart.

“Can I…” he started as he lifted his hand again.

“Yes,” Greg said desperately and just like that they clung to each other, feeling the bond hum around them like warm bubble and yet all the feeling did was to bring more tears, a pain in both of their chests, which wasn’t soothed by the magical bond, but through the closeness of two hearts that would’ve fallen apart alone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short update to leave you on a lighter note (and there’s even a bit of plot!)

When news of Sherlock arrived, they came in the early hours of the morning. 4:31am, to be precise. Mycroft sat next to Greg on a comfortable, large sofa in a secluded part of his library, the other man passed out with his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. He was exhausted too, but unable to sleep, head too full.

They had clung to each other like drowning men, parted after they finally calmed down with only a bit of awkwardness. They were still strangers, after all. And yet. And yet…

The salvaged dinner had been eaten in relative silence and they’d retreated with a tea soon after… comfortably close together, since the frequency let them both calm down in proximity. There had never been any talk of going to sleep in a bed together, but this was just as good. A tentative closeness without any expectations. It felt good just to be held. To not be alone. Mycroft had never minded being alone.

He read the short message, then turned his phone off and put it to the side. Then he carefully, incredibly gently put a hand on Greg’s arm and shook him.

“Greg? Greg…” he whispered, almost didn’t dare wake him. “There’s news.”

“Mhmm…” Greg groaned, still half asleep, wrapping his arms around Mycroft and cuddling closer. Mycroft’s breathing hitched.

“Greg…” he said, half amused. “Wake up.”

“Myc… Mycroft?” Greg mumbled.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Greg lifted his head, which brought their faces so close that their noses touched. Mycroft hadn’t blushed since one of his encounters in Venice had done something remarkably creative, but he found himself blushing even harder right now. Greg’s face was open, soft. He was apparently someone who took a while to fully shake the fog of sleep. He—

Mycroft’s eyes flew open as Greg leaned in and let their lips connect. A rush of warmth went through his body and his fingers dug into Greg’s shirt like he feared he’d vanish into thin air.

Close. So close. So warm. So…

“Shit!” Greg stammered, moved so rapidly that he fell back off the sofa, crashed onto the floor. “Ouch! Fuck! I’m so sorry!! I didn’t mean— I didn’t want— I mean I wanted, but—”

“Greg,” Mycroft cut him off. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! I took advantage of you!”

“I’m fine, Greg. Believe me. It was surprising, but not unwanted. Don’t believe me the blushing regency heroine…”

Greg put both hands through his hair and let out a strangled laugh. “I’m so sorry.”

“I believe you. Come on up.”

Mycroft held his hand out and Greg took it after a moment of hesitation. Soon they were situated next to each other again, much more awake than before. Then Mycroft cleared his throat.

“My team’s tracked Sherlock. He has obviously anticipated I’d be coming after him because he learned the truth about your power. He’s disappeared abroad. Obvious signs point to Norway, but the actual trail leads to Switzerland.”

“What does that mean?” Greg asked.

“That he’s going to want to negotiate from a place of safety.”

“Negotiate? For what?”

Mycroft shook his head. “I don’t know. Yet. He set you up to take my candidate down, and while I believe he took some pleasure by inconveniencing me in the process, there might be more behind it. It was a lot of effort to get you on his good side, after all.”

“... it was odd that he came over to make sure the man would still be getting convicted,” Greg said. “He hadn’t been interested in the resolution of the other cases.”

“Yes, there’s that too. I’m so sorry you got caught up in all of this.”

Greg smiled. “I was sorry too. But now I’m starting to see the good side, too.”

Mycroft smiled back. Slowly he leaned forward, giving Greg all the time in the world to draw back, and when he didn’t put their cheeks together, lightly leaning against Greg, sighing softly.

“I think I’m starting to see it too.”


	15. Chapter 15

Greg woke up curled around a pillow on the sofa in the library. He groaned as he moved his neck  
around. The last few hours had been restful, but his muscles didn’t thank him for it. He turned on his back, stretching out his legs on top of the armrest, toes curling.

“Did you take off my shoes?” he asked, prolonging the last word with a hearty yawn.

“You’re not putting them on my upholstery,” came the answer.

Greg looked up to find Mycroft sit in a nearby armchair with a laptop, tapping away the keys. He’d changed, showered obviously, his hair back in perfect shape.

“If anyone asks you: Last night never happened,” Mycroft added. “Are we clear on that?”

“Who would I tell?”

“Are we clear?” Mycroft said in a tone that made it clear he was used to being obeyed.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Greg turned onto his side, facing Mycroft, observing the light-grey trousers and the pink shirt he had chosen for the day, trying to suppress a delighted grin when he spotted the tartan suspenders. Of course the man would be perfect at choosing colours only three days after he’d gotten the ability to see them.

“You’re still going to drop your candidate, though?”

“Already done. I’ve advised him to make a public apology before the trial. He’s going to endorse the Anti Soulmate Exploitation League verbally and also with a substantial donation. Some MPs will use his change of heart to further some overdue legislation in coming weeks. If someone like him can change, then everyone might… and all that positive mush.”

Greg had sat up during Mycroft’s explanation, eyes growing wide. Then he laughed, much to Mycroft’s surprise.

“My god, you’re just like your brother,” he chuckled and quickly continued before the protest was voiced. “So desperate to get me on your good side.”

“Well…”

“You can admit it, you know. It’s not all fine, but it’s fine for now, I guess. You’ve overcompensated just a bit too much to make it believable, but as long as the outcome is good…”

Mycroft closed his laptop, leaned his head on one hand, supported by the elbow on the armrest.

“Maybe I just wanted to do something my soulmate would appreciate,” he said slowly.

“Sappy.”

“That’s me, Mycroft Holmes, hopeless romantic.”

“I’m really sorry, you know,” Greg said, looking down at his feet. “I didn’t know what to think of you at first. To be honest, I still don’t. But I may have been too quick to judge you.”

“Those should be my words.”

Greg looked up again. The electric pull of the soulbond was still there, but there was also something else underneath… warm and comfortable. In Mycroft’s answering smile he could see that he was feeling at least a fraction of the same sensation.

“I’m only slowly calming down from all this… change. Excitement. Fear…” Greg said, wringing his hands. “It’s good to not be alone.”

Mycroft just nodded, but his eyes were heavy with emotion.

“I’m also sorry I kissed you. For a moment I thought I ruined it. Still not sure I didn’t.”

Mycroft shook his head. “I was merely surprised. I never expected to have someone like you thrown in my path. In fact I… I…” Greg watched him put the laptop to the side, lean forward and clasp his hands. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying this… as a relationship. Though I must warn you that I’m woefully out of practice.”

“There’s lots more to work out than that, so I’m happy to let this particular aspect take second pace for now… but I’m happy we’re on the same page.”

“I might be feeling a bit unstable. You think we should…” Mycroft started and Greg just laughed.

He opened his arms and Mycroft slipped into them with a sigh. They sank back into the cushions, warmly cuddled up.

“This is weird, right? To be acting like this when I’ve only known you for a few days,” Greg whispered into Mycroft’s hair.

“Sometime during last night I found I had stopped caring,” Mycroft replied. “It’s singular.”

“In fear of breaking the bubble… did your brother make contact yet?”

Mycroft sighed, letting his fingers glide over Greg, where they lay on his thigh. “He hasn’t. But he also doesn’t know that we’ve tracked him to Zurich. I’m thinking of going after him. This isn’t something I want to communicate via a channel that can be compromised.”

“What? You want to go there yourself?”

“You’re off work for at least another week, inspector. How would you like to go on an international mission?” Mycroft said with a grin.

“With you?”

“Of course.”

“You know when this week started, I hadn’t dreamed of going to Switzerland before it’s over… but I had also never dreamed of holding my soulmate, so… I’m in.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s not dead!

Of course Mycroft Holmes would be using a private jet. Of course they’d be driven in a large car directly onto the airfield to board it. Of course it was ready within an hour of ordering it, Mycroft’s favourite drinks stocked, a lunch prepared for the flight that put most of the food Greg had eaten during his life to shame. Or maybe it just were the colours, the pleasing contrast of the perfect red cherry tomatoes on the green salad, that made the experience so special.

Incredibly none of this—the lunch situation, Sherlock, Switzerland, the jet—was as extraordinary as the casual touches Mycroft had adopted. Since they’d left the house, he was always just… right there. A touch on the elbow, their arms brushing, thighs touching when they sat. A hand in the small of his back. Their fingers brushed when Mycroft handed the glass over, sparkling water fizzing and fine, cold droplets landing on Greg’s skin. Their eyes met and Mycroft blessed him with a shy smile.

“You’re gorgeous when you smile.”

“That’s the soulbond talking.”

“Nonsense,” Greg said, snatched an olive from the salad. “My tastes haven’t changed overnight. I would’ve called you gorgeous two weeks ago and I’ll call you gorgeous in five years. But I have to admit that the ability to see the gentle red of your blush enhances the picture a lot.”

“In five years…” Mycroft mumbled and looked out of the small window, at the unbroken landscape of clouds. “You are someone who jumps in with your whole body, as soon as you decide on something, aren’t you?”

“Mhm… I take a while to make decisions, but I rarely… almost never waver after I take them.”

“So sometime during this last night you decided to… have me?” Mycroft asked.

Greg sputtered. “I… uh…”

“You don’t have to deny it. I can see it in your actions. I’m not opposed, just… don’t expect me to reciprocate in turn so soon. I’m a bit slower in these things, if only because I will need some time to separate my own feelings from the soulbond. I’m trying.”

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. No one’s ever called me gorgeous before. Don’t apologise for that.”

Greg smiled and turned back to his salad.

———————————————— 

When they arrived, Greg felt a tad ridiculous when they were again picked up on the runway. It was almost noon, the brilliant spring sun blazing in a way it usually only did in summer. He shielded his eyes from the glare, watching Mycroft stride in front of him like it was the most normal thing in the world to be jumping into the large car, not even a thought to where and and if their luggage would be delivered. He still felt very out of his depth, yet when he saw Mycroft open the door and turn around with a smile, he softened.

“After you?” Mycroft offered.

Greg nodded and went ahead. When he passed Mycroft, he felt the other stroke along his arm. It didn’t matter if he did it because he wanted to, or just because he knew the soulbond had a calming effect. Greg was grateful anyway. The car exited the small airfield and drove onto a motorway. The landscape outside didn’t look that much different to England. Cleaner, maybe. Less ornate. Not so stuffy. When he looked around to check the view out of each window, Mycroft laughed.

“I’m sorry to say that while you can see the alps from Zurich, the city is not in the mountains. It’s too bad the view was clouded on our way here… the alps are very pretty from the air. Maybe we’ll see them on our way back. I could arrange for a sunset view, perhaps.”

“Are you sure you can’t read my thoughts?”

“You are refreshingly transparent without any of that,” Mycroft mused.

The car slipped from the motorway into the city, coming to stop at a red light—the first of many. Mycroft was tapping away at his phone, leaving Greg to contemplate his current situation. He was nervous. Uncharacteristically nervous. He should’ve been more resilient to these kinds of situations because of his profession and long years of experience, but… this was different. This was personal. He watched the buildings go by, bigger offices slowly replaced by residential buildings as they came closer to the city centre.

“Why is Sherlock here? Why Zurich?”

“I don’t believe it’s a coincidence. He wouldn’t just hide out in any random country. Especially not in one that’s so rigid on the rules and harsh on the punishments for breaking them as Switzerland. It would be too dangerous. He could’ve just as easily hidden out in the Netherlands.”

“So… the case either has its roots here, or… someone he works together with is here.”

Mycroft nodded. “The first one is more likely. Sherlock doesn’t work together with people.”

“He worked together with me.”

“You shouldn’t talk bad about your family, but I believe at least part of that was ulterior motive.”

“He helped me with my magical ability…”

“Possibly self-serving. He has a keen interest in the workings of soulmate magic, and it is rare to discuss these things with people outside your immediate family, or even soulmate bond. I wonder why you told him at all.”

“I didn’t exactly tell him. We realised it together. Besides… I trust him.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “Still?”

“Still. I refuse to believe he used me like this all the time. We got along. We really got along. It’s obvious when he plays out emotions. He wasn’t like that with me.”

Greg held Mycroft’s gaze defiantly. He didn’t know why he was so adamant about this. Maybe because he didn’t want to admit that Sherlock had tricked him so thoroughly. No matter what it was, it felt important to stand his ground. After a few moments, Mycroft sighed and held out his hand. Greg placed his own in Mycroft’s, felt the gentle fingers close around him.

“You are a fundamentally good person, Gregory. I fear you will find that I am not, and that will be the end of our understanding.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Greg said with a heavy voice.

“I will defer to your judgement,” Mycroft replied. The car had been stationary for a while. “We’re here.”

He opened the door and Greg followed him uneasily. They exited on the bank of a large lake, which was shining brilliantly in the mid-day sun. A veritable swarm of ducks and swan occupied the water closest to land, making a ruckus. Many people were walking along around them, many more sitting at the edge of the water with their lunch. The air was warm, the sky blue and in the distance Greg could see the snow-crowned alps.

“Wow,” he said. “Who knew Zurich was so pretty?”

“I am seldomly here to enjoy the view,” Mycroft remarked wrily. “Yet I relish the moments when I can indulge. Our luggage will wait at the hotel. We’re going to find my brother first.”

Greg watched the car drive off, turned around when Mycroft did. In front of them, across the street was a large gate, stretching across the space between two stately buildings, which wouldn’t have looked out of place in Whitehall. The gate itself was made of stone and was ornately decorated, which Greg could make out as they walked closer. The doors looked like they were made from metal and could be opened to admit large vehicles. To the right and left of it, where the people walked, were two smaller doors. The right one was labeled with “Eingang” and the left one with “Ausgang”.

“This is the main, upper class shopping street in Zurich called Bahnhofstrasse. It reaches through the city up to the main train station. It is also accessible only for people with soulbonds.”

Greg shook his head. “So there’s a testing station behind the door?”

“Precisely.”

“These are illegal in public places.”

“In London, yes. Not here. Come on, now.”

Greg walked ahead with a heavy heart. England had outlawed these kinds of separation tests for all public places. Only select clubs and other more or less questionable establishments had these tests still at their door, but on private grounds they were allowed. This was as if they’d blocked off all of Oxford Street. He shook his head.

“The Swiss are pretty damn conversative, aren’t they?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Mycroft replied. “I always dread trying to come to an agreement with them. They’re so entitled… Well, luckily this time we hopefully won’t need to talk to them, since we should be able to pass the test with ease. If my information is to be believed, Sherlock is holed up in a building on the street.”

“Wait. Does he even have a soulmate? He must have. How else would he have deduced the whole case around the wife?”

Mycroft pulled on his suit jacket to straighten it. “I don’t know. Evidence leads me to believe he does. He is under no obligation to tell me, even if it’s true. He doesn’t have to tell anyone. It’s one of the few liberties we still possess as humans.”

Greg nodded, observing the gate in front of them. The stone and metal decorations formed countless stylised flowers, painted in bright colours. It would probably be impressive in black and white, but like this… it was magnificent.

“Then let’s find him. I’ll get some answers out of him one way or another.”

Mycroft went ahead into the testing cabin. He took only a moment, then the door opened again. Inside, Greg was faced with a touch screen. The test was as simple as it could be, accessible for all languages since there was no text. No, this was classicist in another way. There was a large square with a colour on top and a range of five other, smaller squares at the bottom. The colours were low in contrast, kinda washed out. Greg knew from experience that to someone without a soulbond, they all looked like the same grey, even though they came from a randomized pool. He’d always gotten into establishments, which used this system, by his police ID only. Now he selected the correct matching colour ten times in a row and the door on the other side opened.

What welcomed him was a veritable jungle. The street was painted and decorated to an inch of its life. Lush vegetation—trees, bushes, flowering plants—framed the road, making Greg think he was somewhere in the tropics.

“Wow,” he just said. Behind him the door to the cabin opened again and Mycroft pulled him out of the way by his arm. “This makes me so angry.”

“Because everyone else is excluded?”

“It’s one thing that higher powers have somehow decided that colour is tied to soulbonds. No human can do anything about this. But then to separate them even further, cutting most of the population off from these spaces… It just rubs me the wrong way. Always has.”

Mycroft reached for Greg’s hand and kissed it lightly, before locking their fingers as he started walking. As they strolled down the path like many other couples, Greg couldn’t help but marvel at the fantasy world twinkling at him from the shop windows. One particular chocolate shop made him stop in his tracks, the decorations made to look like cherry blossom trees were blooming inside the building. Still, the anger in his stomach was simmering underneath it all.


	17. Chapter 17

They entered the townhouse from the back. Mycroft broke open the lock under the cover of the slightly set back house entrance and a strategically repositioned potted plant. He dearly hoped that Greg didn’t have a list of things he’d seen Mycroft do, which didn’t exactly fall into the realm of lawfulness. No matter. Breaking this lock was a minor offense compared to enabling his now failed political candidate, so it would probably fall under the table at some point. Mycroft knew that coercion was the worst approach he could adopt here, and he needed Greg on his side. Not only because of his ability… no, simply because the thought of being separated from him again grated on his soul like a physical pain. Damn soulbond.

“We don’t know which flat he’s in… yet the nameplates here indicate it can only be one on the third or fourth floor,” he said and then continued when Greg looked slightly puzzled. “All others are old, but regularly cleaned. The one on the third floor is old and dirty. The one on the fourth floor is missing. Two candidates for empty flats, which can be repurposed. Though it could also be the other one on the third… If you look closely, the sign once held two names, one is now painted over with white. A separation, recent. Might have something to do with Sherlock’s client, if there is one.”

“So you suggest we ring the bell at each flat?”

“Yes, but from the floor itself. Give him less time and room to run.”

Greg nodded. Mycroft noted he didn’t look happy about this, but who would be? He let the detective inspector go first, since he insisted. Mycroft was perfectly capable of defending himself, but there was something in this which made it seem like teamwork, which curiously pleased him. Not through that inevitable soulbond pull, but on a deeper level. It was… simply nice.

The two flats on the third floor turned out to be duds. One was indeed occupied only by a single man, who evidently lived completely alone, the other was entirely empty. One picked lock on the fourth floor later, they found themselves face to face with Sherlock Holmes, who sat on a single chair at a rickety camping table in the middle of a vastly empty flat.

“Congratulations, you found me. Want a gold star?” he asked.

“Don’t be difficult,” Mycroft replied. “Not more difficult than this already is, at least.”

“Fine. You’re exactly where I wanted you to be, after all. I just didn’t think you’d bring your new… what’s the word? Pet?”

“Soulmate, Sherlock,” Greg said and looked to Mycroft. “For better or worse.”

“Definitely worse. Poor brother. He’ll ruin you, you know? His power will. I thought it would be the other way around, but oh, did the universe have a surprise in store for you.”

“We’ve been through that. Now, why are you here?” Greg asked.

“Because you have so generously helped to convict a certain man… and even helped to get his misdeeds into the limelight by convincing Mycroft to drop him. You performed above and beyond expectations. Now we can begin phase two of the plan to bring them down,” Sherlock said, starting out light and ending the last sentence with a growl.

Mycroft had never seen him so personally affected by any of his endeavours before. He had never seen his brother so invested at all. Some part of him was intrigued, some part was actually frightened. He took a deep breath and steadied his voice.

“To understand phase two, I think you have to explain phase one to us first. I’m starting to get a grasp of what you want to achieve here, but it will be good to hear the whole story.”

“You just don’t want to admit that you don’t understand what’s going on,” Sherlock sneered.

“And you never stop to behave like a bratty child. Explain, or we won’t help. I mean I won’t help. Gregory can decide for himself.”

Greg reached out and grasped Mycroft’s hand. “The thing about soulbonds is that it’s we now.”

“I’d retch, but then I’d disparage my own soulmate, which I’m not willing to do,” Sherlock said while standing up.

“I assumed,” Mycroft admitted. “Yet I wasn’t sure.”

Sherlock walked over to the window, which overlooked Bahnhofstrasse. He looked back and forth, then turned around and leaned against the garishly coloured wall next to it.

“Let me give you some certainty, then. I met her almost a year ago. I had received a request for help from a woman, who said her cousin had gone missing. With his parents dead, she was his closest contact in the family. One day she got a text from him, saying he was going to go abroad. Didn’t say where, didn’t say when he’d get back. After that, contact broke off for weeks. When he finally replied to her texts, he was even more evasive than when he was silent. She hired me to find him after the police dropped the case.”

“He was here, in Zurich?” Greg asked.

“No,” Mycroft said. “He was in London. He was the real soulmate of the candidate I dropped.”

“Ah, you see, real is the wrong word here. Artificial is more like it,” Sherlock said. 

He drew something from his pocket and threw it over to the table. Mycroft picked up the small metal box, which looked like it had contained candy at some point. It held dried juniper berries, some fish bones and a fresh leaf of an oak tree.

“What is this?”

“The key to soulmates. Well, half of it. For some reason, which has eluded me so far even though I’ve run countless tests, these components, coupled with a very specific application of electricity running through the body, can make someone on a similar frequency as you vibrate close enough to produce a soulbond effect with all its benefits… for a limited time.”

“Shut up,” Greg stammered. “No, this can’t be real.”

“Oh, it’s real. Believe me. I found the cousin. I shadowed him. And I saw them come in to perform the procedure once every three weeks, just enough to keep up the effect. The actual device they use is not bigger than a laptop. The ingredients are combined in a vial, the contents of which will be administered intravenous. Once you know what you need, it’s easy. The hard part is finding a suitable match.”

Silence settled over the room as Mycroft turned this new information over in his mind. Leaving out the effects of the strange mixture of juniper, fish bones and oak… it seemed plausible. The frequency could potentially be forced by making it vibrate faster. There had been experiments about this in the past, but they’d all been outlawed. Human experiments were forbidden. Soulmate bonds were sacred. Well, apparently not for all.

“So your client is your soulmate? The woman who hired you?” Mycroft asked.

“That’s the detail you pick?” Greg blurted out.

“He is still my brother and I take an interest in his personal life.”

Sherlock actually laughed. “Keep telling him that. You only want to know because she’d make a perfect means of surveilling me even further. No, it’s not the client. It’s the partner of the man who runs this whole operation. We ran across each other by accident while I was casing the building where I assumed they are performing the experiments. It would sound fantastical, but then again I don’t have to explain that to you two, now that you experienced a similar accident.”

“Then phase one was conviction of the candidate, getting his deeds exposed to a certain degree. A public figure was perfect for this. The fact that I had an interest in him was coincidence at first, but fit well into your plans,” Mycroft continued. “You said that phase two can begin now that I’m here, so I believe the experiments are taking place in Switzerland. And you need me for what? Going to the place to negotiate with them under the pretense that I know about their work and my candidate is threatening to expose them in exchange for a lower sentence unless he gets… well, money, I suppose.”

“I see you haven’t lost your mind quite yet, brother. That’s more or less the gist of it. Only now that you’ve brought your pet with you, we can enhance the plan a little with added authority.”

“He wants you to play a corrupt policeman, who can make the evidence disappear,” Mycroft translated.

Greg sputtered. You could see a whole emotional journey on his face. Mycroft could physically feel his anxiety. How he was torn. He didn’t need to read his feelings, or the soulbond for that. It was obvious for everyone who knew the depths of goodness this man possessed. Mycroft was only just starting to realise.

“You don’t have to participate, but Mycroft will,” Sherlock said.

“He’ll go there alone?” Greg asked.

“He’s too intrigued to say no,” Sherlock replied.

Mycroft sighed. His brother was right.

“Then I’ll go with him. I’m not letting him go alone,” Greg decided.

“You’re aware that while my brother hasn’t been in active fieldwork for a number of years, he could still overpower you in seconds? He doesn’t need your protection.”

“Yet I still want to offer it.”

Mycroft caught Greg’s gentle eyes and their shared frequency seemed to let the air between them buzz with energy.

“Then tell us your plan in detail, Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to reiterate that this isn’t beta’d at all


	18. Chapter 18

Greg dropped down on the bed, which had room for at least four people. Not that he would share it, no… the room was all for himself. After they’d come to an agreement with Sherlock, made plans for the next day, they had retired to the hotel. And what a hotel it was. Looking from the outside like a castle from a Disney film, from the inside like a designer catalogue, it overlooked Lake Zurich from its vantage point on the hill, just on the edge of the forest. It was too much. So much so that Greg had somehow lost the capacity to be amazed even further, just took what was given to him.

He looked around the bedroom. One of two bedrooms in a large suit for the two of them, Mycroft on one end, Greg on the other. It was thoughtful of him to organise this setup. Together, yet without pressure. Greg turned over on his front and looked out of the large windows, to where the lake was shining in the afternoon sunlight.

In any normal situation, if he had the chance to jump a man like Mycroft, he would’ve done so in a heartbeat. The bastard was sex on legs in his perfect suits. Greg was partial to a good suit on both men and women, and Mycroft looked like he’d been born in it. He looked over to the door, which wasn’t completely closed. Mycroft had insisted on it being a quiet evening, and Greg was incredibly grateful for it. He felt like falling asleep already, yet somehow he didn’t want to waste this time he could have with his newly minted soulmate. Not when he knew what they’d attempt to do on the next day.

Just then there was a knock on the door.

“Gregory?”

“Yes, come in.”

The door opened, yet Mycroft stopped briefly when he saw Greg lying on the bed.

“I wanted to ask you about dinner… though if you’d rather rest, I will leave you to it.”

“No, no. I’m fine. Come over, sit down.”

Mycroft walked over slowly. He had shed his jacket and waistcoat, as well as his shoes, looking softer than Greg had ever seen him. He couldn’t take his eyes away, automatically rolling over on his back as Mycroft sat down on the edge of the bed, so that his head was next to him.

“Hi,” he said.

Mycroft smiled. “Hello.”

“Thank you for this. I know I said it before, but disregarding the circumstances, this is the nicest hotel I’ve ever been to.”

“I wouldn’t let my soulmate have anything less.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Greg mused.

Mycroft put his hand on Greg’s chest, just letting it lie there. Greg felt the heat through his shirt. He closed his eyes and sighed. A few moments later, Mycroft started to pet him, letting his fingers glide over the shirt back and forth.

“This is nice. I could get used to it,” Greg said.

“Me too…” Mycroft replied, his voice very small. “You are… very easy to get used to.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“I find it hard to get used to other people.”

“So, yes.”

“Yes.”

Greg wanted to hold him. Just lie there and hold him like this. Get used to this shy man, who was hiding under the exterior, who was most probably very adorable when you gave him the chance to be. But he didn’t want to rush. This was already very nice. So he kept his eyes closed and opted for a conversation instead.

“You said something about dinner?”

“I wanted to ask you what you want to eat. We can order it to the room.”

“Nothing fancy. Just… something comfortable. Pasta, maybe.”

“Ate a lot of pasta when you were a child?”

Greg smiled. “Yes, Mr Deduction.”

“I apologise.”

“Accepted. If we can get pasta, that is. I’m partial to carbonara. Think they make a decent one here?”

“Most assuredly. I’ll take care of it.”

Mycroft made to stand up, but Greg caught his arm before he could move. He opened his eyes and met Mycroft’s surprised gaze. The frequency between them seemed to heat up the air. Greg swallowed.

“You’re gorgeous. You know I’m not just saying that to get on your good side?” he whispered.

Mycroft nodded. Several emotions ran over his face. He repositioned himself slightly, then leaned forward until the tip of his nose touched Greg’s. Greg held his breath, even his internal monologue shut up. Mycroft gave him all the time in the world to move away, and when Greg didn’t, their lips met slowly, gently. Greg closed his eyes again as the feeling threatened to overwhelm him. His body was shaking slightly and he felt tears forming as the feeling of the matching frequency washed through him. Everything felt good. It was right. He wanted to crawl inside Mycroft to feel like this forever. When they separated, he let out an embarrassingly needy sound, and only then did he realise that his hands were fisted into Mycroft’s shirt fabric, bunching it up between his fingers. With a shaky exhale, he reluctantly let go. He opened his eyes to see Mycroft just as affected, tears running down his face.

“I’m…” Mycroft started, cleared his throat. “I’m going to… uh… food…”

Greg watched him walk away, filled with warmth and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, sorry!  
> the hotel does exist and it's called Dolder


	19. Chapter 19

Greg made a mental note to put Zurich on his ‘places to visit’ list for when this was all over. If they didn’t come to harm today, that was. They had boarded a ship in the city, together with a whole lot of tourists. It was now on its way along the whole length of Lake Zurich, giving them breathtaking views of the surrounding hills and Alps in the distance. The weather was amazing.

What was even more amazing was Mycroft stuck to Greg’s side as they stood at the front of the boat, his arm around his waist, absentmindedly petting Greg through his clothes. Of course this was their cover until they reached their destination. It had been agreed upon. Still… While Mycroft was pointing out places on the shore to him, Greg was thoroughly distracted.

“We’re almost there,” Mycroft whispered to him. His mouth was close to Greg’s ear and he shivered as he felt the breath on his skin. “Gregory…”

“Sorry, sorry… Best step away now, else I’ll be very useless in a moment.”

The couple cover ensured that no one would look too closely at them for talking quietly to each other. Mycroft sighed softly.

“And why is that?”

“You know exactly why, bastard.”

During last night’s dinner, a lot of barriers between them had fallen. No, actually they had already fallen with that kiss. If nothing else, Greg felt like their relationship had gone from relative strangers to tentative friends, who could joke and talk informally. He had a feeling that informality wasn’t something Mycroft did, except with Greg. Well, they were soulmates after all. He could feel it now, in the very air. It was like everything was loaded up with electricity… and every time he looked into Mycroft’s eyes, the world flashed with saturated colour like a tangible reminder.

Saturated like the tiny island the boat was approaching… all vivid greens and flowering trees under a cerulean sky. There was a pier there, and Greg saw a church peek out behind the tree tops. Not much else, though…

“We’ll disembark here,” Mycroft said and stepped away from him. Here they would just be business partners.

As his arm released Greg, his body felt cold. He sighed. Mycroft inclined his head and Greg followed him into the interior of the ship. They walked towards the exit to wait for it to stop. Down here, protected from the surveying eyes of everyone above, Greg reached for Mycroft’s hand once more. As their skin touched, he felt a wave of relief sweep through his body.

“A tiny island, secret operation, Switzerland? This feels very Bond to me.”

“While I’ve done field work before, I have never been a James Bond,” Mycroft whispered. “Though I’m feeling like one now.”

“Is it the location?”

Mycroft actually grinned. “No. I simply never had a gorgeous partner that I was destined to end up with after the mission is finished.”

Greg sputtered. “So what, I’m a Bond girl now?”

“You certainly have the appeal…” Mycroft replied.

He pulled Greg closer and bestowed a light kiss on his cheek. Then he stepped away. The island was in view. They were approaching the pier. Greg was simultaneously elated by Mycroft’s words, yet also felt anxiety pool in his stomach.

“Don’t worry. If it comes down to it, I will protect you with my life,” Mycroft said and stared resolutely ahead.

“Don’t you believe for a second that I won’t do the same for you.”

There was something curious in Mycroft’s gaze. His eyes were shiny for a moment, as if they held unshed tears. Then he looked away.

—————

Mycroft had to look away from Greg, else he’d see how much his words, said with so much conviction, affected him. This whole operation was highly unusual for him. In London he had assistants, bodyguards and other helpers around him. They were sworn to protect him, but they did it because they were paid to do it, not because it had to be him specifically. To be addressed like this out of personal regard… it was overwhelming.

The ship had docked at the pier. There were a few people getting off at the small island, wanting to look around until the next ship would come by in half an hour or so. Mycroft couldn’t fault them. It was a beautiful place. Alas, they were here for business. And it wouldn’t be easy. There was someone already at the dock, waiting for them. So the appointment they had made last night had actually worked out.

“Mr Holmes, Inspector Lestrade,” he welcomed both of them. “Welcome. My name is Anders, I will accompany you to the facility.”

They shook hands. Mycroft was relieved to find Greg very relaxed at the whole situation. Probably wasn’t his first undercover operation. It was reassuring to have someone experienced at his side, who he didn’t need to worry about—well, don’t worry about too much. He was still his soulmate, and as such always a reason to worry, especially here. Though Greg had become indispensable to the mission. He could read thoughts, after all.

The man opposite was cautiously wary, but neither distressed nor aggressive. This was his job, nothing more. Mycroft read all of this in a combination of his body language and the emotional aura. He had to admit that it did help, though currently it did nothing more than confirm his deductions. He would have to learn to use it better to suit himself and his needs.

“Thank you for meeting us here, Mr Anders.”

“It’s no trouble. The entrance would be hard to find on your own. Please, follow me.”

They walked away from the group of tourists, who were taking copious amounts of pictures of the lake and the departing ship. Mycroft had never felt the urge to do something similar, but with Greg at his side, somehow this mundane activity didn’t seem all that senseless anymore. He would look good against this background. Greg caught his eye and smiled at him behind Anders’ back. Mycroft swallowed. It was good to have him here, but it also made it all so hard to focus.

Was he falling in love with Greg? Actual love, not grown from the bond they shared? He wasn’t too proud to admit that he hoped he was. He wanted to be in love with him. In love with a good man, a better man than he had ever been.

He purposely avoided his eyes. There was no time for this now. They had to collect enough evidence to build a solid case against the organisation under pretense of blackmailing them. Right now all they had were the observations Sherlock had accumulated. It was good, but it was not enough… but the people here didn’t know that. They didn’t know what the soulmate had told Greg during the supposed interrogation. They just had to play their game out now. It was Mycroft’s job to ask the right questions and Greg’s job to listen to the unsaid answers. This way they would be able to get the information without the others getting suspicious—hopefully. 

They had crossed the island now, through a small vineyard, past the tourist restaurant. On the other side of the island was a small house, which looked like a maintenance building. It had its own pier, on which several boats were anchored. There was an entrance, which was shielded from view from the restaurant. It was all very… Bond. Greg was right. Maybe Mycroft would tell him about his field work in the early days at some point. The time before he had been shot and almost lost his life, after which he’d retreated into desk work.

“Just a quick check before we enter, gentlemen.”

Anders picked a metal sensor from a shelf behind the door and directed them to hold up their arms. Mycroft complied, as did Greg. They were clean. Of course they were. Not entirely, though. Mycroft habitually carried a slender knife made of ceramic strapped to his left forearm. It was concealed by padding, which made it feel like you were touching skin upon a casual pat-down… which Anders didn’t seem to think was necessary.

They followed him around the corner, where an elevator was already waiting for them with open doors. Inside a man, who seemed too much like a ferret to comfortably look at him, welcomed them with honeyed words. He was important here. That much was evident even before he introduced himself.

“Mr Holmes, Inspector Lestrade. Thank you for visiting our humble facility. My name is Urs Langener. I am the head of research here.”

“You don’t have to thank us. I know you don’t want us here in the first place,” Mycroft replied matter-of-factly.

The ferret man smiled. “Ah, yes. Well, then let’s get to business immediately. We would like this to go away quietly.”

“And we would like nothing more than to help you with that, if the conditions are right,” Greg said.

“Of course. It’s all mutual. We have a proposal for what you could call a win-win situation. Follow me.”

The elevator doors dinged open. They were only three floors down, but it didn’t matter, they were trapped here anyway. Mycroft and Greg followed Langener through the long corridor of what seemed to be an old bunker installation, repurposed for research. To the left and right several rooms were occupied with chemical lab equipment, making this whole operation look like an evil secret base out of the mind of a Hollywood set designer in the 60s—all concrete blocks and swivel chairs.

“In here, please.”

They walked ahead into a larger meeting room, which was furnished with bright lights and several potted plants. Someone had left water on the table. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a regular office meeting room, complete with a white board on the wall. Langener closed the door behind them and took a seat at the table. Mycroft and Greg did the same.

“Now, I see you aren’t inclined to talk pleasantries. That suits me well. My Swiss colleagues are usually roundabout to the point of nausea,” Langener opened the conversation. “Now, please tell me exactly what it is you came here to achieve.”

Mycroft smiled. The other man didn’t seem to be stupid. Of course it wouldn’t make their negotiations easier, but it would possibly be an interesting conversation.

“Are you the head researcher on the project? The one who came up with the procedure?”

“I’m the one who was thrown out of university for proposing human experiments to learn about the subject. The whole product is based on my rejected thesis. So if that makes me head researcher, then yes.”

“Human experiments?” Greg asked.

“It sounds bad when you say it like this, doesn’t it? Of course you have to examine humans when this is a condition which only applies to humans. How else will you make progress?” Langener said and threw his hands into the air. It was, understandably, a very touchy subject for him.

“Examine, yes. Many people do that. Experiment, on the other hand…” Greg added.

“Well, how can you get results only with theories? All our subjects are volunteers.”

“Like the young man I interrogated in London? Was he a volunteer too?”

“Of course!” Langener said quickly. “He agreed to the treatment in return for his luxurious lodging and lifestyle.”

“That’s not what he told me…”

Langener leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Please, inspector. You don’t need to go into the details,” Mycroft said. “The fact is we have someone on our side, who bears a grudge against you and wants to come clean. We can make the whole thing go away for a price.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Langener. Now this was what he was good at. What he was born to do. 

“What do you mean by ‘make the whole thing go away’, Mr Holmes?”

“That’s why I brought my new associate Inspector Lestrade. He is willing to brush everything under the rug, so to say. Close the investigation. On my end, I have the resources to make everyone disappear if they’re a threat. Usually this power is used to serve the Crown… yet luckily for you I’ve been wielding it for so long, no one questions my decisions anymore. One man is easily lost in the bigger picture.”

“So we’re going to have to pay you off both?”

Mycroft smiled like a cat. “If you would be so kind.”

“I received your message with the initially proposed amount, but I have to inform you we will not be paying it all at once.”

Mycroft scoffed. “Surely you have many well-off clients. This isn’t a product that will corner the market. You are the market. There’s no alternative.”

“Of course we have many appreciative clients. That’s not what I mean. We have prepared a counter-offer for you. Some sort of a more… long-time business association.”

Mycroft reached for one of the small water bottles and unscrewed the top, noting it had still been sealed. Not that you couldn’t inject these with harmful substances anyway. But Langener knew who he was. He knew that the disappearance of Mycroft Holmes would cause ripples. He knew there had to be a security. There was one, though it wasn’t in the way Langener thought. The only person who knew where they were was Sherlock. Mycroft took a sip of water.

“Long-time?” he asked.

“Exactly. You see, we’re going to want to continue doing business in the UK. There are a lot of interested clients in London alone. We don’t want every case to end in a situation like this. Why don’t we make the rules of the game clear beforehand and agree on a modus operandi we can all be happy with?”

Mycroft looked at Greg. Greg nodded at him. Twice. This had two meanings. One meant to continue the negotiation. The other meant he had not yet collected enough information from Langener’s head to continue the sting from a safe distance in the future.

“Alright, we’re listening.”

“We turn your price into bi-monthly payout. It won’t be as high at first, but if our association continues beyond two years, you will have effectively earned more than you’re asking for now.”

“And in return?” Greg asked.

“In return Mr Holmes makes sure that any cases involving our clients fall exclusively under your jurisdiction. You may convict them for any misdemeanours they perpetrated, but there is never to be any mention of our product. If any of them wants to spill, we will rely on Mr Holmes expertise to… what did you say? Make it go away.”

Greg seemed deep in thought. They had agreed on accepting any offer they got, so that they would part amiably, but if they accepted right away, it would seem suspicious.

“Bi-monthly. How much are we talking?” he asked.

Langener took a pen and wrote a large number on the whiteboard.

“That’s for each of you. First payment starting today, with a little bonus for your trouble.”

That… was a whole lot of money. If Greg actually took the bribe, he would triple his yearly earnings. For an inspector this was a very tempting offer. Yet Greg still seemed to mull it over. He waved for Mycroft to come closer.

“Excuse me,” Mycroft said and leaned in so Greg’s mouth was next to his ear.

“Ask him to let us see the experimental setup. That’s the only thing I can’t get from his head. Then we can leave.”

“Alright,” Mycroft said. “We are inclined to agree, but we need to set the details down in writing before it’s fully agreed. I appreciate you don’t want a paper trail, but we need to have security.”

“I expected that. We don’t have to settle the details today. I’d rather do that over dinner.”

“Perfect. Also we want to have a look at your setup before we sign.”

“We are not usually willing to show it to just anyone from the outside.”

They had expected that. Greg smiled and delivered the excuse. “I’m not just here to negotiate my price. I want a soulbond. I want to become a client. You can deduct the payment from my wages.”

“Well, that’s another matter entirely,” Langener grinned. “The production of the serum isn’t done in these rooms since the actual ingredients don’t give anything away, but we’re testing and improving the electric wave device here, so we have a bit on site. Follow me, please.”

As they got up, Langener dragged his sleeve over the number on the board, erasing all traces of their meeting. Of course he would want for one of them to become a client. It would make them even more complicit. Less willing to betray them. He went ahead, then Greg, then Mycroft… who placed a hand on Greg’s back for a moment when no one could see them. He could feel the tension in Greg’s body even through his clothes. The anxiety vibrating through the bond they shared. Mycroft wasn’t less anxious, but it wasn’t about the mission. It was all about Greg. He was so impressed by his conduct that even his heart was moved. He would… try and flirt with him again tonight. Maybe kiss him again. Even the thought was nice.

They reached a room near the elevator. Langener waved them in. Inside were several shelves with what looked like old prototypes and a desk, where someone was soldering something into a briefcase. So this was where they made the devices.

“With the help of this and the serum, the frequency of one’s soul becomes less narrow and can match with another in a wider range than just an exact match. Of course the vibrations fade over time, so you have to repeat the application regularly, but we are working on a more permanent version.”

“Which you won’t sell, because the repeat applications are the very thing sustaining your operation.”

“Precisely. It’s nice to have a partner who knows his business,” Langener said and grinned. “Of course Inspector Lestrade has room to negotiate for a longer lasting bond. Now, would you like to try it too, Mr Holmes?”

“No, thank you. I don’t require a soulmate,” Mycroft said politely.

“Quite right. My wife isn’t my soulmate either, but you can be happy without these notions,” Langener said.

Mycroft had to suppress a reaction on his face. Of course they weren’t soulmates. His wife was Sherlock’s soulmate. He glanced at Greg. Langener walked over and picked up one of the metal balls, which were connected to the device by a power cord. He handed it to Greg. Then the other.

“Don’t worry, it’s not turned on right now. The actual application of energy doesn’t hurt. It just travels through you. One in each hand. The other party picks up the other two metal balls and you turn the power on for about thirty seconds. For now we just measure your base frequency and pick a suitable match from our volunteers to go from there. You’d be surprised how many people would like to get matched to someone in a position of power. Now, sit down and we can start the measurement.”

Greg sat down and Langener flipped a switch. Suddenly the light in the room changed. It shifted from clinical white to a warm amber. Mycroft gasped when he realised the source of it. Something that seemed like a measuring device on the desk had lit up. It was Langener’s surprised face, which morphed from shock into anger, which clued him in that something just had gone horribly wrong.

“I don’t appreciate being lied to, Mr Holmes. You said you don’t need a soulmate, so why is yours right here?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Only because you can’t read this as well as I can,” Langener said and drew a gun from a concealed holster under his suit jacket. “Now, start from the top. Why are you here?”


	20. Chapter 20

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” Mycroft said coldly.

Greg swallowed. Alright. This had definitely gone sideways. Mycroft was moving backwards slowly and it didn’t escape Greg how he positioned himself between Langener and him. Idiot. Idiot! It was Greg’s job to protect Mycroft, not the other way around!

The metal balls in his hands were still buzzing with electricity, so he couldn’t put them down without risking to get a shock. Think, Greg, think… What can you do? It didn’t seem like the small facility had much of a security force. No wonder. It was hidden on a tourist island, completely inconspicuous. No one even had an idea that something like this product was possible. The less people worked here and knew about it, the better. Everyone can be bribed.

“Oh, it’s very much my business, Mr Holmes. This is not only my livelihood, it’s my life’s work! I will not have an upstart from another country, who thinks he can just waltz in here and get his way, destroy my dream!”

“Upstart…” Mycroft snorted a laugh. “I’ve been called many things in my life, but that one’s new.”

“I don’t care what you’ve been called. Tell me why you’re here and who you’re working for and I might let you live.”

In the corner of his eye Greg could see the person, who’d been soldering the parts at the desk, taking off his protective mask and gloves. It was only a matter of moments before Langener would tell them to get help, Greg was sure because he had heard the thought flitting through the man’s head. He had to do something!

“Alright, alright. You got us. Well done. We’re here on request to dismantle your delusional organisation. The people you’re using to test this… this mad contraption are not volunteers. They are forced to do it! Soulmate exploitation, no matter how the match was made, is not only illegal, it is despicable. We are here to bring an end to your schemes.”

“No one will take up the research when I stop! You cannot end it!”

“Well, then just shoot me.”

Greg gasped. “What?”

Mycroft looked back at him for a moment. Then he looked ahead again.

“Shoot me and your dream will be over instantly. My people know where we are. What we are trying to do.”

“I don’t believe you. If this is a larger scale operation, why not raid us in the first place? Why are you here alone, endangering your soulmate, if you have any other choice?” Langener said with a triumphant smile. “No one knows you’re here. You think you’re so clever, trying to infiltrate us like that, but you were doomed to fail.”

“You hadn’t even realised the deception until the machine switched on. Who’s not so clever now?”

Greg groaned. Don’t provoke the man with the gun, Mycroft. Then it happened, only moments after Greg could hear him think it. Langener nodded towards the other person in the room, who had waited patiently for instructions.

“Chrigu, get the others. I will keep them here.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man took one last look at Greg and Mycroft and turned to leave the room. Greg’s heart was racing. He couldn’t let him leave! They could possibly take out one person with a gun, but if they were more? Down here? As Chrigu turned, Greg made a decision. He threw both of the metal balls from his hands at once. One directly at the man, one towards the ground. As they left his hand, one a bit earlier than the other, the electricity ripped through his body and he felt it like a sharp, stinging pain, which traveled up his arm and into his core in an instant. His chest hurt and he fell over, moaning in pain.

There was a commotion above him. He couldn’t even open his eyes, curled up on the floor, clutching his hands to his chest. Someone was shouting. Crashing. Then… a gunshot. Greg’s eyes shot open. No one was left standing. Everyone was on the floor. As the shock of electricity waned off, he crawled over to where Mycroft was lying. There was blood everywhere.

“My… Mycroft…” he stammered, holding his head. 

It was only his training as an officer, which made him go through the motions of checking for vital signs. Mycroft was still breathing. Then he was groaning, cursing, complaining. Then Greg realised the reason. Langener had shot clean through his hand. Greg cursed. He snatched a scarf from a nearby chair and wrapped it as tightly as he could around Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft’s face was white. He was conscious, but his mind was wandering a bit. Greg held him close and looked directly into his eyes.

“Mycroft. We need to leave. Now. Can you walk?”

He felt the pain through their bond and even dulled like this, it was excruciating. Then Mycroft shook his head and his eyes became much clearer. He looked down at Langener by his side, his throat red where he had apparently squeezed him. Then they heard a noise from the doorway. The other man had fallen over after the shock, but he was moving again.

“Yes. Just help me up.”

Greg did just that. Supporting him for two steps, Mycroft was surprisingly sure on his feet after a moment. He looked at the mechanic in the door, walked over and lost no time to kick him in the head. The man fell over again, silent and motionless.

“You take the gun,” he said. “I can’t shoot like that.”

Mycroft was right. With the wound in his right hand, it was impossible. Greg picked up the gun and checked it. It was still full, except for the one bullet which had gone through Mycroft’s hand. He nodded at his soulmate.

“I have all the information we need, but they’ll be on alert. We need any kind of police force to close in now.”

“We can contact Sherlock as soon as we’re on top. There’s no reception down here.”

“Let’s go.”

The corridor outside the room was empty. Apparently there had been no one down here except them, and the thick walls of the bunker had concealed the commotion. He pressed the button for the elevator, which opened immediately. As they slumped into the small space, Mycroft sank against Greg, who held him up with one arm, the gun trained on the door in the other.

“You know I thought about holding you against my body, but I didn’t think it would be like this,” he said and nosed the side of Mycroft’s forehead. It was wet with sweat and overheated.

“I’ll let you hold me in any way you want as soon as we’re out of here.”

“If that’s not an incentive…”

Mycroft laughed softly, then turned his head and kissed Greg. Time seemed to stop. There was only Mycroft, right there, so solid and real. So hot. Greg swallowed. The fingers of his hand, which was on Mycroft’s waist, dug into the fabric of his shirt. When the elevator dinged they parted reluctantly.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Mycroft whispered.

Greg’s heart made a complicated jump.

“Please…” he breathed.

One second later he shot Anders in his right leg. The man had been standing in front of the elevator, no doubt alerted by its movement, ready to take them back to the pier. He shouted in surprise and fell to the floor, only to be hit in the head by Mycroft with his still working, left hand… to be completely knocked out.

“Honestly?” Greg asked when they checked the outside of the building for any more people. “I know it’s wrong… but seeing you so ruthlessly efficient is really doing it for me.”

Mycroft snorted. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously. Apparently the universe puts soulmates together for a reason.”

Mycroft’s eyes seemed to shine at him, then he nodded towards the pier.

“We’re taking the boat. I’m sure Anders has the keys. Check him.”

Greg did just that and found them in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“So that’s it? Escape via the boat? Who’s not James Bond?”

“Shut up and come on before they find us.”

Mycroft went ahead. Luckily the pier was close. The small boat was secured by just one rope, which Greg untied while Mycroft jumped into it. He started the motor and then they were off. A huge weight fell from Greg’s shoulders as he saw the island grow smaller behind them. He looked over to Mycroft, who was on the phone with his brother, holding the device with his left hand. His right hand was bleeding through the scarf, colouring the light blue a dark red. Still, he sat there like nothing had happened.

“Sherlock assures me he’s informed the authorities, who will be closing in momentarily.”

“I have a list of their other locations in the city. And a list of names,” Greg said and pointed at his forehead. “All in here. We will get all of them. This wasn’t in vain.”

“Perfect. You are perfect.”

“The power I have… it… it will stay between us. I will try my utmost not to let anyone know. For what it’s worth, I will pretend to have the same power as you.”

Mycroft's eyes shone with unshed tears as he looked back at Greg, his body shaking. His face had suddenly turned white. Greg’s stomach fell. He knew the signs of a delayed shock all too well. As Mycroft lost consciousness, he reached the city harbour and shouted for the people at the shore to call an ambulance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bumped the rating up to M because of the gun stuff... possibly earning an E rating for other things soon, haven’t decided yet!


	21. Chapter 21

You should never start a story by letting the main character wake up, but when Mycroft’s eyes opened and he saw Greg at his bedside, he felt like his story was only just beginning. The man was slumped over in his chair, features hidden in the shadows of the falling night, but he could feel him clearly, their bond stronger than ever. 

The world was in twilight behind the window. Mycroft stretched his muscles only to realise the large bandage around his right hand. Ah. Yes. There was that. The room wasn’t very bright, but he could still see that the saturation of colours had lessened a bit… So he had been out only for a day or so, considering the lack of a drip connected to him. His throat was parched. When he sat up, the bed creaked and Greg was startled.

“Wha— Mycroft!”

Mycroft found himself tackled back to the bed, Greg wrapped around him. The bond flooded him with relief and happiness. He had to laugh. He couldn’t help it.

“Gregory… You’re alright,” he whispered and buried his good hand in his hair.

“Bastard, that’s my line!” Greg replied but his voice was close to laughing himself, no doubt feeling the tender emotions Mycroft couldn’t help but broadcast.

They gravitated towards each other until their lips met with a sigh. There was no urgency here, just satisfaction in being so close, gratitude for the other’s presence. Mycroft felt uncharacteristically buoyant and nuzzled Greg’s nose, which elicited a happy giggle.

“I love you,” Greg said. “I know it’s hard for you, so you don’t have to—”

“I love you too,” Mycroft cut him off. “I’m sure now. It’s not just the bond. It’s you.”

Greg sucked in a breath of air and held Mycroft tighter.

“While I hope he didn’t have any lasting damage, I have to admit I was pretty turned on by how you knocked that guy out. Might have had some influence on all this.”

“Gregory… Turned on by violence?”

“Clear-headed competence, more likely… No hesitation. It was rather… I hate that word, but there’s no other which would fit… It was rather sexy when you ordered me to take the gun.”

Mycroft grinned. “Are you hoping for me to be like that in the bedroom? Decisive? Issuing orders?”

He had the pleasure of seeing Greg actually blush. “Maybe?”

Mycroft leaned in and brushed his lips over the shell of Greg’s ear. “How about we try that as soon as I can use my hand again?”

Greg shuddered, but started laughing, so Mycroft joined in too. They still held each other close when there was a knock on the door. They expected the nurse, who came carrying a tray with fresh bandages, but not Sherlock, who entered right behind her.

“Excuse me, but there are no visitors allowed during examination,” she said as she pressed the light switch in passing.

“It’s just his hand,” Sherlock drawled. “It’s not like you’re undressing him completely.”

“It’s alright,” Mycroft said before the nurse could counter. “He’s my brother and Greg here is my soulmate. They can stay.”

“If you say so…”

They waited in silence while Mycroft’s hand was unwrapped. He stared at the wound, which was a clean shot through the palm and out the back of his hand. It was obvious there had been an operation to repair the damage while he’d been asleep. The nurse carefully cleaned the surrounding area to check for discolouration or inflammation. Mycroft was satisfied to see nothing but the expected blue bruises.

“Some ligaments have been torn, one bone was pretty fractured, but they put it all back together. The doctor will come by to explain the process to you, but for now you shouldn’t use the hand at all and avoid turning the arm as much as you can, so that nothing on the inside dislodges,” she explained. “I’m afraid it might be a slow healing process accompanied by physical therapy, but currently there’s no indication you shouldn’t be able to fully regain use of your hand.”

“Thank you…” Mycroft mumbled, biting his lip as the tight bandage shot a spike of pain up his arm.

“Take two of these now. They should last you through the night, but if they don’t I’ll leave two more here, which you can take at 2AM the earliest,” she said and fixed Greg with her gaze. “He seems like a sensible man, but make sure he doesn’t take them earlier, alright?”

“Promise,” Greg replied.

The nurse nodded and packed up her things. She gave Sherlock one last look, who had been silent through it all, and left the room. Instantly the tension left Mycroft’s shoulders and he sank back into the bed. Greg reached for his left hand and squeezed it, then handed him a glass of water so he could take his pills, brushed a bit of hair out of his face.

“I want to say something about all of this…” Sherlock said and indicated the whole situation. “ …so badly, but I can’t. Not everyone behaves as nauseatingly as you two, but I have to acknowledge the level of concern regarding one's soulmate.”

“Where is she?” Mycroft asked.

“Irene is currently in custody, being questioned in relation to the whole operation. You met Langener. Since they are still married, at least on paper, it was inevitable.”

“Aren’t you concerned?” Greg asked.

“Not in the slightest. She could talk a fish into walking out of the ocean. She will have no difficulties denying her direct involvement, claiming she knew about the theory but not the actual experiments. She’s cutting a deal with them about what she does know as we speak.”

Mycroft could hear Sherlock’s haughty tone and see his body language. But he also knew him well enough to realise the underlying anxiety, masked just under the surface. He was worried, but Mycroft wouldn’t call him out on it. It was natural. Besides, if it all wasn’t already clear to him, the spectre of his worry was hanging like a rain cloud above his brother’s head. Mycroft looked to Greg, who had apparently read something similar in Sherlock’s thoughts. Sherlock stared at them for a moment, then threw his hands up in the air.

“Alright, fine! I’m worried! You don’t need to use your voodoo powers on me to find it out in secret!” he spat and flumped down on the visitor’s chair, which creaked at this mistreatment.

“Voodoo powers…” Greg shook his head. “Sherlock, listen to me. You’re the only person except Mycroft and myself who knows about my power. You can’t tell anyone, you hear? Not a single soul. I will pretend I have the same power as Mycroft: Reading emotions. This is important.”

“I see he’s well-trained already,” Sherlock said, but there wasn’t any vitriol behind it. “You have my word. I have no desire to see my brother fail because of something like this.”

“Sherlock…” Mycroft whispered.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have a very large desire to see you fail, but it has to be a failure of your own making… otherwise it wouldn’t give me enough satisfaction.”

Mycroft smiled wryly. “I see your soulbond hasn’t changed you.”

“But it has changed you.”

Mycroft stared at Greg and reached deep down inside his heart. Yes. Yes, it had changed him. Greg had changed him… and he would continue to do so. That was alright. More than alright, actually.

“It might have,” he admitted.

Sherlock nodded and stood up again. “Now, I don’t have any desire to talk about the case with you. You will find out what you want to know on your own. I will return to England in due time.”

“In due time?” Greg asked.

“Irene has to get her affairs in order before she can accompany me to London. Until then, I’ll be on… hiatus.”

“In Switzerland?”

“Yes. She owns a house in a town called Meiringen. It’s hidden away in the Alps and supposed to have a grand waterfall.”

“My brother, retiring in the countryside…” Mycroft laughed. “That I should live to see the day.”

“I’m not retiring just yet, brother. I’m not sorry to say that I’m aspiring to be a thorn in your side for a long time to come. Farewell.”

With a flourish, Sherlock left the room. Greg burst out laughing. “What a roundabout way to do a social visit. He was only here to see if you’re okay.”

“I know. He can’t do it any other way, and that’s fine. I know what he’s like.”

“You think this will be good for him? Staying here for a while?”

“An extended break? Definitely. And I think it would be good for us too…”

Mycroft held Greg’s hand a bit closer, then brought it up to his lips for a kiss.

“Move in with me.”

“You only want someone to open your jars for you while you’re incapacitated,” Greg replied, but his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

“You caught me…” Mycroft said and smiled broadly. “Whatever else would I need you for?”

Greg took a deep breath and climbed up on the bed to straddle Mycroft’s legs. Mycroft sighed contently and let himself be embraced, nuzzling his nose into Greg’s shirt. It felt so right to be here, in his arms. It felt like home.

“Let’s take a few weeks off, make the bond official. I love you. Please move in with me.”

Greg held him a bit closer and kissed his forehead.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for accompanying Mycroft, Greg and me on this journey! Since I am me, there will likely be a smutty epilogue some time in the future... Stay tuned.


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Here’s a smutty epilogue. Merry Christmas! This is basically just PWP and has no story development. If you don’t like this sort of thing, probably skip it. Everyone else: Enjoy!
> 
> Rating: E  
> Cockwarming, service sub, come play

“What are you even, Mycroft Holmes?”

Greg threw up his hands and then put them on the stone railing, buried his face in his arms. His next words were muffled, but they didn’t make much sense anyway.

“It’s been established long ago that I’m a human being,” Mycroft replied smoothly and put a hand on Greg’s back, drawing soothing circles. “Or my mother lied to me when I asked her. That’s also a possibility. You’ve met her.”

“I did. I’ve also met half of the royal family tonight. Only the Queen was missing!”

“She’s very sorry she couldn’t make it and sends her regards. We’re invited for tea next Saturday as an apology.”

“Sure,” Greg replied. “Sure.”

“Gregory, I told you there would be a fuss about me finding my soulmate. Much more even so since we got married so quickly on top of it all. You’re the one who was happy to let me take care of the guest list.”

Greg looked up to see Mycroft’s face actually look apologetic. He sighed. Mycroft opened his arms and he slipped into them as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and to him it was. A month after the whole debacle in Switzerland, they had grown together into a single unit and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Mycroft hugged him back with one arm. His hand was still out of order, so to say. Something internally had healed a bit wonky, so they had to re-open the wound and break, then set the bones again. Greg kissed Mycroft lightly, who smiled against his lips. As they looked into each other’s eyes, the world flashed with saturated colour.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” Greg whispered. “Everything is so beautiful when I look at you.”

“Me included?” Mycroft teased him.

“Of course. Stop fishing for compliments.”

“Never.”

A cool wind rushed past them. It was early summer but the nights still were a bit cold. Greg buried his face in Mycroft’s shoulder and held him closer.

“Are we just about done in there?” he asked.

“Yes, just about. The only thing left to do is say our goodbyes to everyone, so I can take you home and carry you over the step to put you into my bed.”

“I do like being in your bed,” Greg said and kissed Mycroft again just because he could.

“I like having you there. Now come on.”

The farewell happened in a blur. Greg only had eyes for Mycroft as they walked around and thanked everyone for their attendance. It didn’t help that he was slightly drunk, which narrowed his concentration and focus down to just one thing at a time, and that thing was Mycroft. Still, they managed to make a more or less graceful round and left the room to the applause of everyone present.

“Did William and Kate just applaud for you to take me home into your bed?” Greg asked as they slipped into the back of the car.

“They did.”

“I can’t believe that the future king was applauding me getting laid, but hey… I’ve had weirder days.”

Mycroft laughed, full-bodied and evidently very amused. He picked up Greg’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. Then he licked across the skin and Greg’s brain stuttered to a halt. One month. One month since they’d come back from Zurich, and despite not having the use of both his hands, Mycroft had introduced him to the kinkiest things in the bedroom he had never even thought about. It was a miracle how compatible they were, how everything Mycroft suggested lit a fire in Greg’s body like never before.

“Since we just got married today, I won’t make you crawl all the way to the bedroom tonight…” Mycroft whispered and an excited shiver ran over Greg’s body from head to toe. “But I will make you kneel, if that is something you want. I am perfectly happy if you want to do away with all this and just fuck me, nothing special.”

“You are always special,” Greg said and rubbed their cheeks together. He held Mycroft a bit closer as the car went around a corner. “Make me kneel? Just for a bit… We don’t have to draw it out.”

“Any other wishes?”

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

“That’s dangerous,” Mycroft breathed into Greg’s ear.

Greg knew it was. Last time he had given him free reign, Greg had found himself bound in an armchair, Mycroft edging him five times before he was finally allowed to come.

“I know you’ll decide within reason.”

Mycroft smiled, then stroked Greg’s cheek with his good hand, nuzzling their noses together.

“My rational thoughts and all my reason have left me when it comes to you, darling. I dearly wish I could use both of my hands on you.”

“If you’re that good with one hand, I’m almost afraid of what you can do with two.”

Mycroft grinned and pulled Greg into a sweet kiss. It was all warmth and love, their shared frequency humming between them when they were this close, so much that Greg’s lips felt tingly as if a low current was running through them.

“Besides,” he whispered against Mycroft’s lips. “You were injured trying to protect me. I should be worshipping you. You shouldn’t even have to move a single finger.”

“Not even when it’s inside you?”

A hot flush ran through Greg’s body.

“Alright, fine. You may move it then.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

Just then the car stopped and Greg laughed loudly.

“Get out!” he said and playfully shoved at Mycroft’s chest. The other looked up at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“I will. You will follow me into the library, we will go upstairs and then you will serve me for a while. Will that be sufficient for tonight?”

“Oh yes,” Greg replied, his mouth dry. “That will be more than enough.”

He helped Mycroft get out of the car by offering him his arm as support. They were used to this by now. It had been only a month, but it was like they’d been together forever. Yet there were still a lot of things Greg was learning about Mycroft… and himself. He relished every new discovery. Some were logical, some had come as a complete surprise… like the fact that he got turned on by serving Mycroft. Not even in a sexual manner, just by being useful. It had started out as helping because of his injury, and had morphed into this more playful game, in which they were still testing out the boundaries.

For now, though, he felt himself slip into a relaxed state of mind just walking up the stairs behind Mycroft, knowing he would feel comfortable, warm and useful soon. Not that he felt useless all the other time, but this was… different. Special. Mycroft stood at the edge, looking down at the dining room table. Greg slipped to his knees next to him, on the left side. He was gratified to feel Mycroft’s fingers in his hair immediately, scratching him lightly. He sighed contently. They remained like this until Greg’s breath had evened out.

“Will you take off my shoes and jacket, darling?”

Greg nodded, certain that Mycroft would pick up on it. He turned slightly and leaned down to untie the shoelaces, then held the shoes one at a time so that Mycroft could step out of them. With a little help he was able to stand again, his knees already a bit wobbly. His heart melted when Mycroft smiled indulgently at him, and they kissed sweetly, the air around them warm and buzzing.

“The jacket, darling.”

With a sigh Greg let his hands glide over Mycroft’s waistcoat and under his jacket, slipped it neatly from his shoulders. He took both the shoes and the garment and placed it neatly on a nearby table. When he turned back around, Mycroft held out his arms, so Greg made quick work of his cufflinks and his waistcoat. Then Mycroft sat down in an armchair and gestured towards all of Greg, who understood the rules by now. He took off as many clothes as he felt comfortable with and remained in his pants and shirt. The air inside was warm and cozy. Finally he sank down on his knees on a cushion between Mycroft’s legs, leaning his head against the inside of his soulmate’s thigh.

“Very good, Gregory. You look gorgeous like this.”

Greg tried hard not to preen, but it was difficult under the gaze of his appreciative partner.

“Get me a drink.”

Mycroft picked up the book he had left there for this exact purpose last time and opened it. His attention was completely off Greg now, which was… thrilling, in a way. Greg got up on his feet and fetched a glass of sherry for Mycroft, which he placed in reach, then sank down to his knees again. Mycroft took a sip, humming contently. He read a few more pages, then shifted slightly in his seat. Greg’s mouth went dry. He wouldn’t… would he? Mycroft reached lower and opened his zip. He pulled himself out, his cock still soft. Greg swallowed. Then, a hand on his head, the suggestion of pressure.

Greg leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against Mycroft’s cock. It was warm, silky, soft. He opened his mouth and licked it once, then took all of it inside. He cradled the flesh on his tongue, put both hands on Mycroft’s ankles and settled in. Above him, he heard a gratified sigh.

When Mycroft nudged him, Greg wasn’t sure how long he’d been floating. If his knees were any indication, it had been a while. He looked up to see Mycroft smile at him, his eyes shining.

“You’re being so good for me,” he whispered, letting a finger run along Greg’s stretched lips. “Such a good boy.”

The moan that traveled through Greg’s body was desperate. At Mycroft’s words, a shiver had run over his body, flipping him from relaxed into aroused in an instant. He sucked once at Mycroft’s cock.

“You want me to fuck your mouth?”

Greg nodded as well as he could.

“But you’re not allowed to come, since I need you to take me to bed and fuck me afterwards.”

Greg moaned again, his treacherous cock pulsing. He nodded again and started sucking in earnest. Mycroft groaned and threw his head back. Greg would never get tired of the way Mycroft grew hard in his mouth, the way the softness turned into steel, the twitches and desperate gasps that came with it. Mycroft mumbled something under his breath, unintelligible. It might have been curses or encouragements or both… Greg didn't need to understand what he was saying. It was enough to know the effect he had. Mycroft grabbed his head with one hand and dug his fingers into Greg’s hair. Greg’s muscles tensed up. This was it. He took a deep breath not a moment too soon.

Mycroft held him down and pushed up at the same time. Greg’s throat closed up. He couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Mycroft’s heavy breathing, the aborted curses. Greg’s eyes watered, his grip on Mycroft’s ankles intensified. Still he didn’t move. Finally Mycroft pulled him  
off by his hair.

They looked into each other’s eyes, both blown wide. Mycroft’s cheeks were red, his face had a look close to worship. Greg’s mouth hung open, spit running down his chin. When Mycroft spoke, his voice was dark.

“Good boy.”

Greg whined.

He was pressed back down and everything became a blur. Mycroft held him and both fucked up into his mouth and moved Greg’s head the way he wanted at the same time. It was messy, uncoordinated. Perfect. After what seemed like no time at all, Mycroft was tensing up and coming down Greg’s throat. He had no choice but to swallow.

Mycroft didn’t pull him off and Greg had no intention to draw back. He waited until Mycroft’s cock slowly grew soft between his lips and sucked at it until he felt like it was clean. More even so than having his mouth fucked, this felt… just good. Intimate. Mycroft’s hand had relinquished its hold and was now twitching on his thigh as he moaned quietly, letting himself be cleaned. Finally he moaned loudly, his body shuddering. Greg’s skin broke out in goosebumps.

“Please Gregory… take me to bed…”

Greg carefully let Mycroft’s cock slip from his mouth, admired for a moment how it was glistening, covered in his spit. He took a moment to compose himself, slipping out of one mindset into the other. When he looked up and saw Mycroft’s unfocused eyes, it wasn’t all that hard. He looked like he was begging. Greg stood up slowly. 

“I’m going to have you over the back of this chair. Turn around, put your chest on the backrest.”

Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers were shaking as he turned, presenting his perfect arse to Greg, who lost no time. He reached around and opened Mycroft’s belt, pulled both his trousers and pants down in one go.

“Is that… will that work with your hand?”

“Just fuck me already,” Mycroft laughed.

Greg grinned. He pulled down his pants, which were becoming uncomfortable, gave himself a few strokes, groaning as he did. He then reached into the drawer of the small table next to the armchair and produced a small bottle of lube. They often played in that particular chair, so it was only good to be prepared. When he dripped the lube down Mycroft’s crack, the other shivered. It was a beautiful sight. Greg moved forward and rubbed his cock through the liquid, up and down against Mycroft’s hole.

“Should I prepare you or just go for it?”

“Fuck me.”

“Like this? I will have to go slow.”

“I need you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Gregory!”

Greg laughed. There was nothing better than teasing Mycroft when he got desperate. See the usually so important, put together man shake under Greg’s hands. Well, there was one thing that was better, and Greg was doing it right now. He put his cock right at the entrance and let it rest there for the moment. Then he pushed forward and they both groaned in unison, overwhelmed by the feeling.

“So tight…”

“Don’t stop….”

“My…”

“Fuck…”

Finally, finally he bottomed out. He held Mycroft’s hips with both hands, thumbs resting next to his hole. He traced the rim, brushing against his own cock as he went. He reached around with one hand to find Mycroft still most soft, futilely twitching, not able to grow hard again so soon.

“God, I love you like this…”

“Fill me up, please. I need to feel you inside me.”

Greg twitched, which made Mycroft gasp, push back against him.

“Make me drip.”

“Fuck, you’re so filthy when you get like this.”

Greg pulled out and pushed in. There was no pain in Mycroft’s gasp, only pleasure. So he did it again, and again until he set a steady rhythm. Then he pushed a thumb in along his cock just to see Mycroft stutter and flail. With just one hand he couldn’t do anything but hold on for dear life, cursing colourfully. It didn’t take Greg long to lose it. He pressed himself up close and let go, silent in his orgasm, a death-grip on Mycroft’s hips.

“Yes, yes…” Mycroft breathed and pressed himself closer. 

“Fuck, I love you.”

Mycroft whined and reached between his legs just as Greg stepped back, admiring the view. He was balancing on his chest and his right elbow. His legs were spread, and Greg could see cum dripping from his hole down over his balls. He was panting as he was stroking himself frantically, his gasps close to crying. Greg swallowed.

“Gorgeous…” he whispered.

“Gregory…”

“I know.”

He turned around and squeezed himself between Mycroft’s legs, face directly in front of his cock.

“Come on,” he said and opened his mouth.

“Fuck…”

Mycroft shouted as he emptied himself, covering Greg’s face and tongue with cum. Greg’s eyes were closed, his lips turned up in a blissful smile.

“Gregory…”

Mycroft slumped down, joining Greg on the floor, snuggling close in his lap. Greg raised his hands, but Mycroft stopped him, applying his tongue instead. Slowly, lick by lick, he cleaned Greg’s face.

“You want me to fuck you again? Just keep this up.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” Mycroft said sheepishly. “Husband.”

“Fuck. That happened, huh?”

“It certainly did. No backing out now.”

Greg had to laugh. “Do I look like I’m about to back out now?”

“Just making sure.”

“You’re my soulmate. My love. My future would be meaningless without you in it.”

Mycroft’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. He held onto Greg’s shirt with shaking hands.

“I love you,” he said, almost sobbed. “You can never leave me. Ever.”

“I’m here to stay, darling. Forever.”

They were sticky, sweaty, exhausted and still a little drunk, but it didn’t matter as long as they had each other in their arms.


End file.
